LA Cinema Youth

Animation Theatrical & Home Video Personal Purchasing Tracker: Second Half of 2009

By Nicholas Zabaly

As the year draws to a close, some of you may remember an article I wrote at the end of June, which detailed the animation DVDs and Blu-Ray Discs I had bought during the first half of the year. This article is its counterpart, and tracks my purchases from July through the end of December. Again, my purpose is to provide a case-study sales record of an individual fan for the public record, with the goal of illustrating what kind of impact a single person can have on the industry. However, this time I have decided to also include data of the films I saw in theaters, as actual theatrical box office has an obvious and important effect in determining profitability for animation. While it should be kept in mind that theatrical earnings (particularly for expensive animated productions or foreign releases) are traditionally business loss-leaders for the distributors, the amount of box office brought in during the initial run sets the bar for how much DVD and other ancillary sales can be expected in the future, and additionally can bring smaller films like anime releases closer to breaking even or earning a profit before the home video market comes into play. I have listed this theatrical attendance data first, with the home video information below. I urge anyone interested in contributing his or her own data to please do so via the comments option at the bottom of the article.

Theatrical:

American Animation:

Title (and times seen):                                                     Distributor:

9 (1 time)                                                                    Focus Features

The Princess and the Frog (2 times)                                  Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

European Animation:

Title (and times seen):                                                     Distributor:

The Secret of Kells (1 time)                                      GKIDS

Japanese Animation:

Title (and times seen):                                                     Distributor:

Eureka Seven: The Movie (1 time)                            NCM Fathom Events / Bandai

Evangelion: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone (3 times)  Eleven Arts / FUNimation

Ponyo (3 times)                                                  Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

Home Video:

American Animation:

Title:                                                                           Distributor:

Coraline 2 Disc Blu-Ray                                      Universal / Focus Features

Japanese Animation:

Title:                                                                           Distributor:

Claymore DVD 3 (4 episodes)                                 FUNimation Entertainment

Claymore DVD 4 (4 episodes)                                 FUNimation Entertainment

Claymore DVD 5 (4 episodes)                                 FUNimation Entertainment

Claymore DVD 6 (4 episodes)                                 FUNimation Entertainment

Death Note DVD 7 Deluxe Edition (4 episodes)            Viz Media

Death Note DVD 8 Deluxe Edition (4 episodes)            Viz Media

Death Note DVD 9 Deluxe Edition (4 episodes)            Viz Media

Gankutsuou DVD Box Set (24 episodes)              Geneon Entertainment

Gurren Lagann DVD Vol. 3-4 L.E. (9 episodes)            Bandai Entertainment

Kannagi DVD 1 (7 episodes)                                     Bandai Entertainment

Kannagi DVD 2 (7 episodes)                                     Bandai Entertainment

Millennium Actress DVD                                      DreamWorks Home Entertainment

Romeo x Juliet Collection 2 DVD (12 episodes)            FUNimation Entertainment

Tower of Druaga Collection 1 DVD (12 episodes)            FUNimation Entertainment

true tears DVD Complete Series (13 episodes)            Bandai Entertainment

I had never watched Peckinpah’s early western starring Charlton Heston, James Coburn, Richard Harris and a variety of other recognizable actors before today. While I must say I enjoyed a few elements, such as Richard Harris’s performance and a few action scenes, there’s really nothing here to suggest it was a great example for cinematic editing. Peckinpah’s style was still being developed at this point, and it’s easy to tell his vision was very influenced by the studio system. It was better suited for a class on Peckinpah himself.    There’s a lot of talk in class about the relationship of space and time in cinema, which would make such Peckinpah masterworks as The Wild Bunch or Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia terrific examples since Peckinpah deliberately would cross-cut footage playing at different speeds to convey the frenetic nature of his action scenes. Yet, Major Dundee, well edited as it is, doesn’t quite feature those tropes that made Peckinpah’s work so influential.    It doesn’t help that Major Dundee, even in its director’s cut, is a rather uneven picture, punctuated by scenes of excitement but filled with scenes of tedious psycho-analysis and contrived romance which adds up to nothing but an exciting action scene at the end. Buried here, and seen in short glimpses, is the kind of violent character study that Peckinpah would make his own later on, but studio influence seems to drag this down to the level of your basic Heston actioner.   This, of course, is a matter of speculation, but the editing simply isn’t up to snuff on an emotional or technical level compared to later works.  Briefly mentioned in the lecture were the Russian formalists and their propagandistic view of montage. However, there wasn’t a single clip from any of these works to demonstrate their philosophy, which permeates Peckinpah’s style. A short section from The Battleship Potemkin or Man with the Movie Camera would have been quite helpful. Instead, arguably the most influential filmmakers since D.W. Griffith were lightly touched upon and then discarded as just another fact for the notebooks.   Despite my complains, however, I’m finding the discussions on the relation of space and time quite fascinating and eye opening. It makes sense why certain shots seem to go on longer despite running the same amount of time. Hence why Sergio Leone’s pacing feels different from, say, Alfred Hitchcock’s. Or Ozu’s from Kurosawa’s. There’s a whole world of films that feature fascinating implementations of space and time.    And they picked Major Dundee. 

Not quite sure I’d say that, but as Nicholas points out the industry is in grave danger.

Part II: Anime In Japan – The Studio’s Dilemma

By Nicholas Zabaly
As detailed in the first installment of this series, anime as a whole has had a difficult time in America. The problems the medium has faced here, however, are minor when compared to the systemic issues that fissure the Japanese production industry. Small budgets, low wages, and razor-thin studio profits have had a cumulative effect on the stability and long-term health of the industry which, now threatened with greater economic contraction, has come to a breaking point. While a few select studios, such as Ghibli, Toei, and Sunrise are above the fray thanks to either corporate ownership or massive capital reserves, the majority of Japan’s hundreds of smaller animation companies are on a daily basis forced to confront the harsh realities of being pawns in a business they cannot hope to control. Unlike in America, where animation companies generally create their own works with their own money, most animation produced in Japan is done ‘on commission,’ with the studio paid only a small amount by the financing company, which then reaps the fiscal rewards. Forced to work with a system where their survival depends on a continued series of independent ‘jobs,’ Japan’s anime studios are stuck in a zero-sum game: no matter how hard or how well they work, their continued existence depends on the will of others.
How It All Began
The root of the problem in anime production has historically also been one of its strengths: the low-cost, low-risk nature of the business. Compared to funding a live-action film or an American animated series, anime has always been extremely inexpensive, thereby making it easier for financiers to recoup their investments. A perfect example is Ghibli’s 1997 film Princess Mononoke. Costing an “unbelievable” $20 million US dollars to make, it was the most expensive anime film to date. It went on to become a massive hit in Japan, earning more than $200 million US dollars. Even the failed US and Canadian release, which fell far below the hoped-for estimates, still pulled in $2.4 million, or 1/10th of the entire cost. Meanwhile, for comparison purposes, Disney released a film of their own, Hercules, in 1997. The estimated cost of this animated movie was $70 million, yet it only earned back $99 million at the US box office. It was clear to everyone involved the potential anime could have. Like the once-famed Blair Witch Project, they could be made on the cheap, then come back to earn big for their investors later. Financing companies jumped at the chance to get involved, and publishing giants like Kadokawa Shoten ramped up efforts to turn their novel and manga properties into profitable TV and theatrical anime. Even as the ‘go-go’ boom of the 1980s faded and lavish studio-directed projects like Akira fell by the wayside, millions of dollars continued to flow into the anime industry from other companies that hoped to get rich quick off of others’ labors. And so, the modern business organization of anime in Japan came into being: publishers pay the animation studios to adapt their manga properties into anime, finance the production cost… and then keep all but the barest sliver of the profits. This system resulted in phenomenal returns for over a decade, making anime and the related character goods merchandising business huge growth centers for Japan’s aging publishing houses. Indeed, these were growth markets the companies needed, since Japan’s publishers, like those the world over, have been in a decade-long decline. Kadokawa Group Holdings (parent of the Kadokawa Shoten publisher), in the first half of fiscal 2008, lost nearly $19 million dollars as their core publishing business diminished in traditional markets. The losses would have been far worse, had not one critical area held back the tide: DVD sales of anime. Continued high earnings by titles like Lucky Star (commissioned from Kyoto Animation) and Full Metal Panic! (commissioned from both Kyoto Animation and Gonzo) cushioned the monetary blow. Even bigger business came from cross-promotion between the company’s light novel properties (easy-to-read, short novels which target a youth / fan audience) and the anime series adapted from them. Huge light novel hits like The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (which again was made into an anime by Kyoto Animation) brought in millions of dollars, even as Kadokawa’s traditional novel business experienced continued decline. It has thus become extremely important to the publishing companies, TV networks, and record companies that invest in and depend on anime for continued earnings to maximize their own profits to mitigate losses in other areas. And massive profits are to be had by these corporations, enough for Kadokawa to even predict an end-of-year profit of $1 million. At the same time, the miniscule amounts earned by the animation studios held them in thrall of their financial benefactors, and kept the animators, directors, and other artists from earning (in some cases) even a living wage. Feast for the corporate giants meant that the creators, and the producing companies that provided them artistic homes, were constantly on the verge of famine and extinction.

A Problem of Ownership
The commission system is at the heart of the problem for the studios. Essentially hired on a ‘per-project’ basis, they must follow the financing companies’ orders in everything from budget to content. This wouldn’t be such an issue for the bottom line, except for that the financing companies cannot always be expected to play fair with compensation, or with understanding the true costs of animation production. Additionally, because they often do not own their work, the studios cannot hope to recoup current losses with future profits. Once a show goes over budget, or the budget contracts to force a loss, there isn’t any possibility of correcting the situation. Instead, all the studio can do is hope that they can do the next show cheaply enough to save a sliver of the allocated money to make up for the loss. This inevitably leads to cost-cutting measures, such as outsourcing or a drop in quality, which may in turn affect the show’s ratings, which then may cause the financing company to further decrease the budget. In this fashion, a perfectly fine show can implode over the course of several months if the production is mismanaged. In other instances, the financing companies can prevent animation studios and directors from changing the content or story of the series, or can force the inclusion of certain types of elements. This has dramatically changed the history of the anime industry on a number of occasions, notably 30 years ago, when the toy company Bandai, which had decided to pay the Sunrise animation studio to make a series for them, required them to make a show with “lots of robots.” The result: the original Mobile Suit Gundam.
Other instances have been less fortuitous. When the Japanese public broadcasting network NHK commissioned the GAINAX studio, at the heart of Japan’s economic crash of the early 1990s, to make Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, they forced such harsh conditions on the studio (even causing them to deliberately make the series at a continually-increasing loss or risk being deprived of the chance to be hired again) that the director, Hideaki Anno, left the project on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Still worse for Anno was the fact that the NHK had essentially asked him to rip off Hayao Miyazaki’s classic Laputa: Castle in the Sky. Anno had worked with Miyazaki on Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and felt a degree of loyalty to his old boss, so being told to take advantage of that had a doubly harsh sting. After Anno left, GAINAX had to outsource entire episodes to the cheapest ‘speed-outsource’ companies in Korea and China to avoid being driven into bankruptcy, resulting in a disastrous string of episodes with quality so bad that even fans of the series cringe at their mention. Pressed into making entire episodes in just slightly over a week, with only a few thousand dollars to pay for everything, the Korean and Chinese artists (some of whom may have been political prisoners of the Chinese government) had to work under extreme conditions. Ultimately, the studio resumed work in Japan, prompted in part due to the fan outcry at the downfall of the show. GAINAX somehow finished the series with a reasonably polished bang, completely drained of capital reserves, battered, broken, but still breathing. They had survived. Other companies were not so lucky.
The lack of ownership also has profound effects on the staff. When even character designers are paid a flat fee ‘per character’ and then receive no royalties when their creations are plastered on fans, playing cards, action figures, and body pillows, resentment can run strong and deep. Even in cases where the studios do own their work, because of the precarious nature of their finances, most cannot afford to pass the profits on to the original designers, writers, directors, and artists via royalties. Everything in the anime industry simply becomes a matter of commissions: designers are paid ‘per piece,’ just like animators are paid ‘per drawing’ and writers are paid ‘per script.’ No one has anything to gain off the future of their labor… no one but the financiers.

A Problem of Wages
Further complicating the matter is the question of the ‘per piece’ payments themselves. It would be one thing if, like during the Disney Renaissance of the early 1990s, the animators being paid (in some cases) $100,000 dollars or more per year, with bonuses included. But the situation in Japan is quite different. Historically, the Japanese have never had the kinds of labor movements that in the past defined the American workplace, and across the country, unions are few and far between. In the animation industry, there have been no unions of any kind, and no protective labor groups until late-2007, when the Japan Animation Creators Associations (JAniCA) was officially established (the group legally incorporated in mid-2008). This group, which currently has about 500 members, includes such prominent industry figures as directors Takashi Nakamura (A Tree of Palme), Tomoki Kyoda (Eureka Seven), Rintaro (Galaxy Express 999 Movies, Metropolis), Toyoo Ashida (Vampire Hunter D), and Satoshi Kon (Millennium Actress, Paprika). JAniCA’s long-term goal is to raise the working conditions, pay, and quality of life of animators and artists in the business, and thus far, their activities have consisted of actively mapping the current conditions among its membership and others willing to participate in its surveys. The initial findings have been stark: the typical key animator (the artists who draw the key poses and determine the movement and timing of the animation) can draw about 200 pages in 1 month’s time, and depending on the ‘per piece’ rate on average will only earn several thousand dollars, with no vacation, health benefits, retirement pension, or social security. Many animators, on hearing the group was collecting stories, came forward with their own personal experiences. Stories of animators who had to give up apartments they could no longer afford and move in with loved ones, of enthusiastic young artists burned out after years of starvation wages, and of elderly colleagues forced to survive on public assistance or live on the streets as homeless became disturbingly prevalent. More concrete are the breakdowns of actual salaries. Of course, none of the artists involved in production at the vast majority (90%) of studios are under contract, but are instead paid as they work.
On average, JAniCA has found, a storyboard artist (who is tasked with drawing all the boards for a 25 minute episode) earns approximately $600 a week, when they are working. It takes about 3 weeks to draw the storyboards for a full episode, meaning that employment comes in $2,000 chunks. This averages to $28,800 a year, with no vacation. Key animators are paid anywhere from $22-$25 per drawing, with the very fastest animators being able to complete perhaps a dozen final drawings per 10-15 hour work day. The average number of drawings, however, has been said by several sources, including animators themselves, to being closer to 8 per day. This means that key animators can, at best, hope to earn between $200-$300 a day, at the industry-high wages. On many shows, however, the animation requires such detail that the per-day drawing count falls to just 2-4 drawings. In such instances, the pay does not increase, and there is no overtime. Being assigned with, or taking on a difficult scene, can therefore mean potential financial devastation in the short term for the artist. In a production budget leaked in 2007 from the AIC A.S.T.A. studio, it was revealed that the key animators of the Bamboo Blade TV series were being paid just $20 per drawing, the bottom of the industry barrel. This pay structure did not provide enough money to live on. Ironically, the show’s plot revolved around a bet that that a suitable girl’s kendo team could not be assembled, with the prize being a year’s supply of food at a pricey sushi restaurant. Undoubtedly, the animators must have wished they had a shot at winning the prize, since their yearly wages (which were far below the industry average of $18,400) would not have allowed them to eat sushi, or to eat out period. One wonders if they can eat at all. Things grow still worse when the in-between animators, who draw the final drawings that provide the base for the digital colored version seen on TV, are considered. While these drawings are less detail-oriented and thus easier and faster to create than the keys, they still require great skill and significant time to do well. It is the in-betweeners who suffer most under the ‘per piece’ pay scale, as for each drawing they do, they are paid just $1.65-$2.80. In-between animators try to clear at least 300 drawings a month, with the faster (or more ambitious) striving for 320-350. One young animator at GAINAX, who was featured in the recent Gurren Lagann Documentary Works film (which profiled the staff of this hit series for two years), said she would regularly shoot for 320 but would sometimes end up with just 280 due to the high complexity of the work. Her salary, as a member of a studio that pays above the industry average, hovered perpetually at just around $1,000 per month. With the cheapest apartments in Tokyo costing about $800 per month, she was not earning enough to live on her own.
The reason for these low wages comes from the budgetary breakdown of each episode. Going back to the Bamboo Blade example, each episode of the series was budgeted at about $95,000. Of this, the episode director, scriptwriter, and animation director were each paid $2,000 for their labor. In terms of the time breakdown on how much per week these lump-sum payments amounted to, the writer would have two weeks to meet with the series coordinator (the equivalent of a US show-runner) and then write the script. The writer could thus expect $1,000 a week. The average writer, meanwhile, might write 20 or fewer scripts in a year, meaning an annual salary of $40,000 or less. The episode director would be involved for the duration of the episode production time, which could be from 1 month to 2 weeks, and would result in a range of weekly pay of $500-1,000. The same conditions also exist for the animation director. Of the remaining $89,000 budgeted for the episode, no less than $45,000 would be spent on the opening and ending credits sequences that run with every episode. The huge cost of these sequences would be spread across all the episodes of the series run. The reason for the great expense is not normally due to the animation (which, although frequently of higher quality, is very brief in duration and therefore more manageable), but instead is thanks to the theme songs used. The musical artists who perform the songs, and more specifically their record company managers, consume millions of dollars of the show’s budget, while at the same time getting free publicity (frequently, the singers are up-and-comers being promoted by the recording companies, who then use the anime to gain public exposure). The remaining $44,000 must pay for the voice actors, the sound recording, the art designs and background paintings, the digital coloring and photography, all the animation, and the day-to-day operations of the studio. Trying to make that money stretch across all those employees and necessities, one quickly realizes how impossible it is to run a profitable studio and pay a living wage.

Earning a sustainable wage is also complicated by matters of age. According to the most recent JAniCA survey, which drew 700 responses and was completed this May, animators and artists in their 20s earned on average $11,600 per year, while those in their 30s earned $22,600. These numbers are inclusive across all fields, including key and in-between animation, digital coloring, background painting, and directing. Meanwhile, according to a survey completed last year, industry veterans in their 40s and 50s earned around $31,000 annually. But between 20 and 30 percent of all animation staffers, regardless of age, still earned less than $10,500 per year. Moreover, 47% of the respondents said they did not have an employment contract with the studio they were working for, and 38% said they had not received a physical health check-up since they were employed. But even with these low wages, the anime industry still could not earn enough to make more than marginal profits. While the aforementioned Bamboo Blade was budgeted to earn 20% profits on each episode, the financing companies, broadcast networks, and other investors took the vast majority of this capital. AIC A.S.T.A. was, like most contract studios, left with between 1 and 2 percent profit, with which they could cover losses (such as episodes that went over budget) and pay for other expenses. Ultimatelythough, earnings for most studios are so small that getting out of the contract system proves to be almost impossible.

So Sue Me
The oppressive contract system can only exist in a climate of fear. It is completely dependent on the unequal relationships between the anime production studios and the financing companies. So long as the people with the money are squarely in charge, they have the power of intimidation on their side. This is not to say that all contracts take this path; in fact, it is likely that the vast majority, although unequal, do not involve any foul play. But from time to time, industry insiders drop hints and rumors, always unconfirmed and quickly suppressed, that the financing companies are deliberately cheating the studios out of what little profits they should be earning.
As was the case with GAINAX and Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, the reasons for this are complicated. In some instances, the financing company may be under pressure to maximize profits in a bad economy. On other occasions, they may simply want to take advantage of weak studios. Whatever the reason, ultimately the result is the same: the financiers have the power to threaten the studio and say that, in essence, if they don’t make the show for less than the agreed upon amount, they will lose the contract and will be effectively blacklisted by other financing companies. Outrageous as this may sound, it is made all the easier due to the fact that, in as many as one third of the deals to make an anime television series, there is no written contract. Financing companies, particularly when dealing with small studios that have not been around for a long time, may simply refuse when asked to agree to writing down the terms of their production agreement. And without a written contract, there is of course no way in a court of law to conclusively prove that fraud has occurred. The natural reaction, at least from an American point of view, has to be the question: why would any company accept a production order without a written contract? The reasons are, again, complicated. Due to the fact that small studios are completely dependent on the good graces of the financing companies, often working with the same partners over and over again, in order to break into the business at all and gain market share, they have to obey the rules of the game. If they do not, they do not get orders, and they fail. If they protest these working conditions, they are blacklisted. And if they go public with the allegations, a course of action not just frowned upon in the industry, but across all of Japanese society, they are run out of business.
It should therefore come as no surprise that very few anime studios ever take the vaunted legal option of the American company: to sue for lost revenue. For the most part, the cheated studios simply take this treatment quietly, trying to absorb the losses by decreasing the cost of future productions and covertly taking some of the production budget to make up the difference. But when a studio is dealt a blow so massive that they cannot survive without the justice system, the courts and media do get involved, and an exposé on anime’s bad business practices is unveiled. The recent and evolving case of Radix mobanimation versus Micott & Basara is a particularly nasty one, with both participants seemingly ready to fight to the bitter end. The original relationship between the two companies seemed simple enough. Radix mobanimation, known for its original production Haibane Renmei, among other works, was contracted by Micott & Basara to animate a television series based on the popular Appleseed CG films. Micott & Basara had previously produced these films, with assistance from computer graphics animation studios, and had achieved international success through collaborations with live-action film talents like John Woo and popular musicians like Paul Oakenfold. All seemed well until, according to Radix, after three and a half months of work and without explanation Micott & Basara ordered a production halt, in violation of their written contract. To make matters worse, Micott and Basara then refused to pay the production costs, resulting in Radix claiming an extraordinary $400,000 loss. To put things into perspective, this amount is equivalent to the profits from 20 to 40 episodes, or several complete television series, a number potentially higher than the studio could produce in a year. No small studio of Radix’s standing could possibly survive such a financial blow. To try to save itself the company took the case to the Tokyo District Court. Also interested in the outcome is Wedge Holdings, of which Radix is a subsidiary. Due to the loss on the Appleseed contract, Wedge Holdings revised its net profit estimate for the year from $1.4 million to $1 million, or about a 30% drop. Micott & Basara then struck back, countersuing Radix almost a year later for restitution and compensation over the canceled project. While Radix sued for the allegedly unpaid production costs, Micott & Basara have gone for the kill. They are demanding a total of $1.7 million, of which the breakdown is $1.1 million for the cancellation of the production contract, and $577,000 in compensation for damages. Micott & Basara claim that, contrary to what Radix claims, there were no unpaid production costs, and Radix unilaterally ended their discussions on the project. If $400,000 was a potentially crushing blow for Radix, $1.7 million is an annihilating one. The civil suit has literally become a battle for Radix’s life, and a fight to the death between the two companies, with Micott & Basara knowing full well that, if they win, it will almost assuredly drive Radix into bankruptcy (barring a massive rescue from Wedge Holdings). It must also be noted that, since announcing the lawsuit in 2008, Radix has not been given even a single contract from another financing company. As a result, the studio has been at essentially a dead halt in terms of production for over a year. With stakes this high, it is little wonder that few companies try the legal route. And when one considers the massive amounts of money that would be involved if a studio decided to sue a publishing giant, and the power of high-priced lawyers that such powerful publishers can deploy, it becomes immediately obvious to nearly all anime companies that taking on a financier in court is corporate suicide. So, the unequal relationships continue quietly and in the shadows, financing firms continue to cheat the studios, and animation producers, always tenuously looking for slender profits, consider whatever cost-cutting measures they can to remain in business.
The Korea Condition
The modern animation industry in Japan was born through outsourcing. As American TV animation grew more and more expensive to create in-country during the 1970s, producers like Rankin and Bass looked to Asia as a cheap source of artistic labor. Although work went to countries like Taiwan, where entire industries were established around the steady stream of work, Japan provided an especially attractive alternative. The country was politically stable, had an existent (although small) native animation industry (and thus the training system to supply it), and culturally prided itself on combining efficiency and quality. In other words, it was the perfect location for massive outsourcing. As Japan’s industry exploded, American animators lost their jobs in droves. Thousands of artists were put out of work by the whims of Wal-Mart Economics: in the race to the bottom, cash-hungry companies looked to cheap and exploitable labor bases to use for a while, and then dump when they became to expensive to maintain. Japan, as it turns out, was lucky. The outsource animators also worked on native productions, and became the mentors and teachers of the next generation of artists, the ones who make up the ranks of today’s veterans. When American productions abandoned Japan due to rising costs, their industry was capable of surviving, even thriving, beyond any previous levels. In just a few short decades, the Japanese industry became a mature, robust production center, employing as many more animators working in the traditional 2D medium as America, and then surpassing them. Over 300 animation companies operate in Japan today, all interlinked in a massive web of mutually-beneficial production services and rivalries. And at the hub of this wheel are the great spoke studios: Ghibli, Madhouse, BONES, Production I.G, GAINAX, Toei, Sunrise, Gonzo. They hold the wheel and the web together, and down to the smallest strands that are connected, however indirectly, through the degrees of separation, all the other companies in the business somehow depend on them. But in recent years, another group of threads has been woven into the web, ones that, while beneficial, have started to branch off into their own parallel structure. These strands are the Korean subsidiary and outsource companies.
During the 1990s, the more forward-thinking Japanese studios realized that developing a talent base of animators in Korea could provide a tactical advantage for the future. American productions like The Simpsons had, after all, been outsourced to Korea from the get-go, with virtually no in-country work after pre-production. While no one in Japan wanted to go that far, the realization that Korean outsourcing could provide a cheaper source of labor on the time-intensive tasks of in-betweening and (at the time) cel painting, therefore freeing up the Japanese animators to take on more work, made many companies realize the necessity of outsourcing to grow their business. Even though hundreds of outsource companies already existed in Japan, small groups of artists of 20 or less who just worked on production assistance projects, the tantalizing prospect of having hundreds of Koreans under contract for the same money or only slightly more lured production off-shore. The Wal-Mart Economy struck again. In 1991, just a few months after they were established, the Seoul-based DR Movie entered into an exclusive partnership with the Madhouse animation studio. It was a relationship that would last until the present day, with Madhouse ultimately investing significant money in the company in 2001, and in 2006, Madhouse’s corporate parent, Index Holdings (which also owns Nikkatsu, Japan’s oldest movie studio) bought a still greater stake in the company. Although they maintain their own management and autonomy, DR Movie has today become, in essence, Madhouse Korea. And DR Movie has enjoyed remarkable success, becoming one of the highlight players of the new Korean industry. Not only have they had a hand in nearly every Madhouse production of the past 20 years, but they’ve also become the go-to studio in Korea for the other major Japanese companies that don’t themselves own subsidiaries. Among their other honors, they are the only Korean company selected by Ghibli to work on their productions, starting with Spirited Away. And their quality of work has become so high that Madhouse recently entrusted complete production of an entire series, called Claymore, to them. Only the scripts, backgrounds, voice recording, and some of the episode direction were done in Japan; the rest was all left to DR Movie. It would seem no hyperbole to assert that DR Movie’s in-betweeners are among the best in the world, and have likely surpassed many of the Japanese studios that provide this service. Furthermore, DR Movie employs 350 full-time staff, and hires up to 600 at peak production times, a number vastly higher than even the biggest of Japan’s studios. Despite being paid less, the artists of this company have been able to enjoy job security, with some of the staff members having steady work for a decade or more, something that few Japanese animators can boast.
DR Movie’s success led other companies to investigate foreign outsourcing. The Gonzo Digimation Holdings corporation (GDH), an enormous conglomerate formed around a core animation studio but also comprising game development, web and mobile contents, and capital investing arms, launched their own Korean subsidiary, GK Entertainment, in 2006. Within just a single short year, GK Entertainment became a serious challenger to DR Movie, even being selected to provide key animation on the high-profile Evangelion: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone feature film, the biggest theatrical anime hit of 2007. And elsewhere, other studios are trying different strategies. AIC, the parent studio of AIC A.S.T.A (mentioned earlier as the producer of Bamboo Blade), has in recent years investigated co-production possibilities with art colleges and universities in other parts of Asia, such as Taiwan. Students would be paid a token amount to provide assistance on episodes, while gaining experience in creating animation. Vietnamese artists have recently begun work painting backgrounds for dozens of anime series and films. And Chinese subsidiaries have started to develop as well. All of these efforts have led to Japanese anime commentators describing a potential ‘East Asian Anime Co-Development Sphere’ (borrowing the archaic language of the pre-World War II Japanese Empire) which would involve future productions being produced among all the different Asian countries. A Korean production, for example, might outsource to Japan, while a Chinese co-production with Vietnam could be possible. Even the most inclusive commentators, however, still insist Japan will be the leader. “Japan will provide the concepts and ideas” is the mantra of the commentators, stressing that even as outsourcing grows ever larger, Japanese creators will still have their place in the world secured. Unfortunately, these commentators overlook one key factor: many of today’s top directors, designers, and supervising animators started as lowly in-betweeners, jobs that, due to outsourcing, are vanishing at a record pace from the in-country Japanese production system.
The real result of the Korea Condition is that young animators in Japan no longer have the chance to grow through the ranks. While some of the major studios, like Ghibli, Madhouse, Production I.G, and GAINAX still employ in-betweeners as trainees or keep a small group of them on staff, other companies have basically abandoned having any at all. And as increased outsourcing to other countries in Asia deprives the local Japanese outsource assistance studios of work, young animators have fewer and fewer places to go. Traditionally, the path of succession of a young animator would have been the following: start as an in-betweener, move up to key animator, move up to chief animator, move up to animation director / character designer, move up to episode director, and then finally up to full series / film director. People generally stop at the level their skills will allow them to rise to, or where they want to work (for example, some key animators may be highly qualified to direct, but don’t want to as it would take them away from drawing). But now, under the system that has developed through the realities of outsourcing, new artists must start at the key animation level or higher coming out of art school. The vast majority of animators, however, are not ready for this, or are simply not capable of doing it. Key animation, more than just draughtsmanship skills, requires developed senses of timing, posing, and movement that only the most miraculously talented beginners possess outright. Without the ability to train on the job (and without the motivation of being bumped up to key animator wages), young artists no longer have the opportunity to enter the industry unless they are natural-born geniuses. The result has been an implosion of new talent, and a general aging of the anime industry staff. A decade ago, artists in their late 20s and early 30s made up the norm. Now, few directors are younger than their mid 40s, with most in their mid 50s or older, and animators have a general age of mid 30s or more. The fresh-faced idealists of the past, full of enthusiasm and ideas, have become a sparser sight in Japan’s studios. And the industry’s veterans, including even studio heads like Masao Maruyama of Madhouse, have started to talk of a thinning of talent and an oncoming decline as the business ages and loses touch with its young roots.
Gonzo
Once in a while, all of the factors besetting the anime industry as a whole come together in a perfect storm that envelops a studio with devastating consequences. At this moment in history, the company under siege is none other than Gonzo, one of the largest and most intrinsic to the industry’s general health.
Established in 1992 by founders Shouji Murahama, Mahiro Maeda, and Shinji Higuchi (all formerly of GAINAX), the small studio (which took its name from the Italian word for ‘ruffian’) began modestly, gradually building a name for itself in its first five years by providing animation for minor projects primarily in the video game sector. Their first major production came in 1998, with the OVA (original video animation) series Blue Submarine No. 6. This work inaugurated the so-called ‘Gonzo Style.’ Dominated by hand-drawn character animation mixed with elaborate and extensive CGI, the visual look quickly caught on and catapulted the studio into the limelight. At the time, CG animation was only moderately used even in theatrical films, and always played a background role (usually as a time-saving technique), so the depictions of digitally rendered submarines and ships came as a shock to audiences. Also intrinsic to the ‘Gonzo Style’ were the distinctive character designs of Range Murata. Largely known as a doujinshi (fan-published comic) and graphic artist, Gonzo’s gutsy move to enlist him as the chief designer of what would ultimately become the studio’s most-known look drew many comments from within the industry and its fan base. As a direct result of his work on Blue Submarine No. 6, Murata became internationally known, and (after collaborating several more times with Gonzo) was invited to foreign animation conventions as a guest of honor. Building on this early success, Gonzo started building itself into a strong and aggressive business competitor across several fields, including animation production, digital effects creation, and game design. All was going well, and around the industry, the company became known as a tough competitor in the television anime arena.

There was just one small problem. Like all the other studios, Gonzo was dependent on the contract system to gain the financial reserves needed to produce their works. This did not sit well with the company heads, who wanted to break the cycle and themselves determine what shows they would make. Moreover, they wanted to keep a greater portion of the significant monies their productions were generating. To that end, Gonzo began self-financing productions, laying all their operating profits on the line to become a production committee member with the financiers. This was a huge risk on their part, with the potential consequences of corporate destruction looming larger than ever. But as Gonzo created hit after hit, the gamble paid off. Especially lucrative to the company was the fact that, when their shows were licensed internationally (and particularly for America), Gonzo got a significant percentage of the fees and residuals. Moreover, they could conduct negotiations with the licensors directly, asking for financial terms that were beneficial to them. Unlike most other studios, they were also able to prominently display their corporate logo on DVDs sold abroad, raising name recognition to levels matched only by industry veterans like Ghibli. As the American side of the business mounted in importance, Gonzo put more and more of its cash reserves into self-financing, lifting themselves out of dependence on publishing companies and other partners. The rest of the industry watched in anticipation as Gonzo provided an increasingly valid alternative to financing company domination. Since they were working without such dependence on contracts, the studio created more original productions (versus adopting popular manga), and made anime versions of famed novels and plays, like 2002’s Yukikaze, 2004’s Gankutsuo: The Count of Monte Cristo, 2006’s Welcome to the NHK!, and 2007’s Romeo x Juliet. The crowning achievements, however, came in 2006, when Gonzo released two major and expensive theatrical films, the environmental epic Origin ~Spirits of the Past~, and the fantasy adventure Brave Story. These were their first cinematic works.
But lurking under this veneer of success were mounting problems. In order to drive their business model, Gonzo had to produce ever-increasing numbers of shows in the hope that one would hit big and help cover the costs of others that were more modest in their returns. This is essentially the same strategy employed by Hollywood studios, where the blockbusters pay the bills and cover less successful productions. It is also the model of the publishing companies. But where Gonzo differed from these examples was in the sheer quantity of financial reserves. While a major American studio can afford to lose a million dollars without it being a major issue, Gonzo was by necessity operating under the ground rules of the rest of the anime industry. Even self-financing, if an episode costs $100,000 to make, and it earns $120,000, only $20,000 remains as profit. Therefore, to pay for expensive prestige productions like the theatrical films, or high-profile shows like Gankutsuo: The Count of Monte Cristo, revenue needs to be slowly gathered, saved, and spent at the right moments and on the right expenditures. To ensure this could happen, Gonzo’s parent company GDH (Gonzo Digimation Holdings) created a capital investment arm, taking whatever monies they could and sinking them into profit-generating subsidiaries, including Gonzo Rosso (a game design company), and GK Entertainment (the previously mentioned Korean studio). The capital expenditures, however, were based on the assumption that Gonzo itself would continue to receive a stable level of support from both the Japanese and American marketplaces. This gamble proved to be the fatal mistake for anime’s rising star.

While American anime fans eagerly awaited Gonzo’s new releases through the first half of the decade, Japan was another story. Although the studio had made inroads swiftly and won a name for itself, sales of their titles never rose after the year 2001. In fact, Gonzo’s best selling series of this time period, Vandread, sold just 9,764 copies of its first volume in its first week, and reached just 11,906 copies a week later. These are not good numbers in an industry where the vast majority of DVD sales occur in the first few weeks of release and units sold decline precipitously by progressive volume (for example, volume 2 sells fewer copies than volume 1; volume 3 sells fewer than volume 2; etc.). As for the prestige productions, they did far worse. By first week, first volume sales, Last Exile, the company’s 10-year anniversary series, sold just 6,601 units. Gankutsuo: The Count of Monte Cristo, considered by many to be Gonzo’s greatest show, sold a pitiful 2,732 copies. And the high profile re-imagining of Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai, the sci-fi remake Samurai 7, sold just 1,542 DVDs. While these shows all did better in America, it wasn’t enough to make up the losses, which were substantial on each one (aside from Vandread). With sales for all series averaging in the 5,000-7,000 unit range (again, first week, first volume), Gonzo never attained a position to make adequate money to cover the expensive artistic heights they aspired to reach. Through it all, the financiers the company had abandoned watched and waited. And as Gonzo hit the peak of their spending in 2006, the industry wondered if it was sustainable. It wasn’t. Gonzo stumbled. The films were not hits, and the studio’s television work was being abandoned in droves by Japanese fans. The publishing companies had hit on a new formula: moe, or shows that emphasized cute, innocent, but sexually-desirable girls (usually pubescent). Moe were never prestige series. They didn’t have weighty themes, complex stories, or technically difficult artistry. They had cute girls doing cute things, usually with a minimum of animation frames, and were cheap to make and lucrative for the bottom line. Japan’s anime fans leapt on the moe bandwagon, which had been building strength in the years previous and exploded full-force in 2006 to be the dominant genre in terms of numbers of series produced, as well as sales. Gonzo, which hadn’t made much in the way of moe before, and was identified in Japan by its dependence on the American market, was demonized overnight. With moe particularly popular among the most extreme Japanese fans, who trend male, early to mid twenties, and nationalistic, the reaction was immediate and vicious. Gonzo was suddenly labeled as ‘traitorous’ to Japan for ‘selling out’ to America. Its co-productions with American companies on series like Kaleido Star, a family-friendly show starring a Japanese girl who performs in an American circus, were seen as useless and pathetic pandering. The strongly environmental themes of their first film, Origin ~Spirits of the Past~, came under fire from conservatives. And the lack of moe shows demonstrated to Japanese fans that Gonzo ‘didn’t care’ about them.

In many ways, Gonzo’s 2007 series Afro Samurai reflected this problem perfectly. Based on the violent, cross-cultural manga by Takashi Okazaki, the show follows Afro, a (presumably) African American samurai who duels for possession of the Number 1 Headband, the mark of dominance, with other warriors in a futuristic Japanese setting. Gonzo saw that this title, if mixed with American voice talent and hip-hop music, could be huge in the United States, and immediately set to developing it. The final series, which starred Samuel L. Jackson and was financed by the Spike TV cable channel, became the top-selling anime DVD in America of the year. In Japan, Afro Samurai barely made a dent. Who, the increasingly conservative and nationalistic Japanese fans said, would want to watch a black samurai? In a largely homogenous culture, not only was Afro not welcome, he was hated. More than ever, the moe crowd of fans, who had become the primary consumers of anime DVDs and merchandise, saw Gonzo as ‘selling out’ to America. Domestic sales collapsed. And when the US anime business peaked in 2006 and then began to decline, Gonzo lost the market stability they were so dependent on. In 2008, the company began to run into serious trouble. GDH, Gonzo’s parent company, reported a staggering $35.44 million yearly loss in May. This huge sum was easily enough to sink any other company without massive corporate backing (Ghibli excluded), but due to GDH’s capital reserves, they were able to weather the storm. Needing help, GDH looked to sell more shares of its stock. Iwakaze Capital was looking to buy, and in September of that year $18 million was rushed into the studio as the investment firm took control of 15% of the company. As a result, many of Gonzo’s top managers and corporate heads were forced out, leaving the company they had built. But the money was still not enough to stave off disaster. In November, Gonzo revealed that the lack of funds required them to decrease annual output of new series from 8 to just 4. Three weeks later, the company publicly announced that they were asking 50 of their 200 employees, or about 25% of the workforce, to ‘voluntarily retire.’ The employees who took the offer were given a month’s salary as their severance package, and the knowledge that their sacrifice was helping the company to survive. Unfortunately for Gonzo, only 36 employees took the offer, meaning that the effort was too little, too late. In February of 2009, Gonzo shocked the industry by announcing that they were reducing their remaining 130 employees to just 30. They would, in other words, no longer be able to produce an anime on their own. One by one, the company’s assets were sold off. GDH Capital, the financing subsidiary that had helped the studio produce its works, was sold in November 2008 for $2.2 million. Gonzo Rosso, the game subsidiary which was built around a core company that had existed previous to Gonzo’s purchase of it since 1963, was divested at the end of March 2009. But the worst blow of all came in April, when the vaunted CG department of the studio, intrinsic to their signature look, was sold to a rival company for just $310,000. Literally picked apart, Gonzo flailed desperately, seeking any possible escape from their situation. They had tried, in late 2008, to appeal to the hardcore Japanese fans with their first moe show, Strike Witches. The series, infamous overnight for its fan service (or sexually-related content), was nicknamed ‘Strike Panties’ by fans. It ultimately became Gonzo’s best selling title ever, with 8,720 copies in its first week, and 12,318 by its third. But even this could not help the company turn a profit. Gonzo was delisted from the Tokyo Stock Exchange on July 30. And even with the fire sales of its assets, GDH’s yearly results (which are released mid-year in Japan) noted a $35.3 million loss.According to its auditor, the company now faces possible insolvency.

Gonzo pinned all its hopes on one last batch of shows, the 4 remaining series to be released in 2009. They have not been embraced as was hoped. Shangri-la, the high profile prestige production that brought back Range Murata’s character designs, has languished and been attacked by American fans. Arad Senki - Slap-Up Party, a show based on a Korean role-playing computer game, was skewered in early reviews. Only Saki, a series based on a high school mahjong club with a heavy dose of lesbian fan service, has become a big hit. But because Gonzo had been forced to take this series as a contract, and not self-finance it, the majority of profits that have been rolling in that could save the studio have instead been going to Square Enix, the game company that owns the magazine in which the Saki manga was originally published. After producing 14 episodes, Gonzo no longer had the ability to go on, and animation duties were passed to Picture Magic, a small company that, unsurprisingly, has never self-financed a series. As for the last remaining production of the year, Gonzo has stated that they will try to make a second season of Strike Witches, although whether they will survive that long is, unfortunately, very uncertain.

Quite simply, this is an intolerable situation for the anime industry. The critical life-web that makes up the business is being torn to shreds by the present model, and if Gonzo does indeed fail, the ripple of its fall will spread far and wide. Not only are the remaining employees in Japan and Korea at risk, but so are the dozens of subcontractors, the affiliates, and the other studios that depend on Gonzo for co-productions. In a few weeks, Ghibli’s latest film, Ponyo, will open in American theaters. Animation fans may be surprised to note Gonzo’s name when they read the credits: in order to finish the film, Ghibli relied on Gonzo, as well as other studios, to pick up the remaining work. This is a normal practice that if disrupted by corporate collapse will have terrible, lasting results. Beyond this, if Gonzo is to disappear, other anime studios will be afraid to take the self-funded production route, and will remain firmly under the control of the powerful financing companies. Moreover, there may be consequences that anime fans, both in America and Japan, have not recognized. On either side of the Pacific, Gonzo’s vicious deriders have filled cyberspace with calls for them to “die quickly,” to “fail spectacularly.” Some particularly high-and-mighty ‘fans’ have even declared that “Gonzo’s destruction will help the anime industry.” This comment, even if given the benefit of the doubt, makes about as much sense as the claim that General Motor’s destruction will help the American auto industry. In response to the lawsuit between Radix and Micott & Basara, one contributing member of Anime News Network, a major information source used extensively for this article, said that “perhaps this legal fight will be more entertaining than anything we would have gotten from a functional production [of the proposed series].” This blasé attitude toward the survival of the two participant companies, by a known and knowledgeable member of the American anime community, is disturbing at best. Unfortunately, such sentiments are widespread and regular across the forums, blogs, and even news coverage entities that make up international anime fandom. This is the outgrowth of the Internet’s entitlement attitudes, a situation to be explored in more detail in the third and final installment of this column. But with regard to Gonzo, to Radix, and to the animators, what anime watchers clearly don’t understand is that this industry, until it is reformed and significantly remade, cannot continue to provide content in an equitable and fair way for the people who create it. Whether it is in the abysmal pay conditions of artists, the lack of long-term benefits for creators, the inability for studios to escape the contract system, or the brutality with which fans turn on once-beloved titles and producers, these assorted situations can and will destroy the industry over time if they are not dealt with. If anime as we know it is to survive, fans need to demand better treatment of animators, support the industry with purchasing dollars, and end the hyper-critical mentality that forces studios into corners. There is still much to hope for, but only if people act, here and now, to ensure it. Despite what its critics claim, Gonzo is not dead yet. If you want to see it live, then support it! Purchase their shows! Show your appreciation for what they’ve accomplished! This is what artists want: to be appreciated, to be told they are not “useless.” This is possible, but only if people make it so. The same applies to the animators, the other studios, and the system as a whole. Fans must demand improvements. In great mass and volume, these demands can be heard. In great mass and volume, financial support can save studios from even the worst cases. And in great mass and volume, ordinary people can make real changes possible. Because it is these ordinary people, like the writer of this column and those of you who are reading it, who make up the extended industry, the people who love and cherish the art that emerges from it. Without us, there is no industry. We would do well to remember that.

Next Time, in Part III: Anime Fans – The Worst Enemy?

I swear I haven’t abandoned you guys, but I’ve been focusing on Fangoria recently. One project I’m putting the finishing touches on seems to have ballooned into a multi-page epic. My, my…

Nicholas sent me some sad news today. While I had never known Takuji Endo by name, it appears as though I’ve encountered his work in the show Paranoia Agent. He has written up a thoughtful obituary for the man, a moving one of great eloquence and sincerity. I hope you’ll all use this to educate yourselves about this man’s work.

Takuji Endo: A Remembrance

By Nicholas Zabaly
Last week, on Wednesday morning, July 8th, the international world of animation suffered a saddening loss. Takuji Endo, veteran director at Japan’s Madhouse studio, passed away due to complications from an illness. He was an important and dedicated member of the company, and his death has produced a wave of sadness as it reminds me, and all who follow the brief endeavors of a human life, how ephemeral our existence is.

As described in a tribute on her blog by fellow Madhouse staffer and animator Cindy H. Yamauchi, Endo-san was “cynical, intelligent, and had a twisted sense of humor.” He was also the go-to guy on tough projects, “a real pro when it came to accomplishing ‘mission impossible.’” Over the nearly 20 years that he worked at Madhouse, Endo-san was assigned as an episode director to such varied and acclaimed shows as Record of Lodoss War, Phantom Quest Corp., Space Pirate Captain Herlock: The Endless Legacy, and Paranoia Agent. As an animation director, he served on Patlabor WXIII and the X: Zero OVA (original video animation) episode. For X: Zero, he collaborated with the senior Madhouse director Yoshiaki Kawajiri. Endo-san worked with Kawajiri again, becoming the assistant director on the ensuing X TV series, and then as visual director for 2007’s Highlander: The Search for Vengeance. Early in his career, he broke new ground with the 1992 OVA Zetsuai 1989, a landmark gay-themed sci-fi film that came a full decade before boys-love became acceptable enough to be mainstream. In exploring inclusive, innovative content, in creating finely crafted episodes of meticulous quality, and in his tremendous spirit of professionalism, Endo-san set the bar high not only for Madhouse, but for episode directors around the Japanese industry, for two decades.

Yet, he was not the sort of person who was necessarily easy to get along with. “I’ll bet no one he worked with would ever describe him as a pleasant guy,” Ms. Yamauchi remembered. Nonetheless, she said, “we got along very well despite all the arguments we had over the years. I hate to admit it, but his arguments were sound 90% of the time. His outbursts turned out to be a great learning experience for me, for he would often spill out his trade secrets in an attempt to get his point across.” If Ms. Yamauchi’s experience is any indication, Endo-san seems like one of the ornery master geniuses of animation, a type that any student of the art or historian of the medium is sure to recognize in legends from Milt Kahl on down. Despite their temperaments, it is these men who’ve built the bedrock for generations of new talents.

More than just a respected figure in animation, Takuji Endo’s work meant a lot to me personally. I became aware of him six years ago, when I watched the X: Zero OVA for the first time. The episode touched me deeply and helped shape the philosophy I was building for myself at the time. Because I wanted to know who had crafted this meaningful work, I looked up everyone involved. Endo-san, as the animation director, naturally caught my eye. From that time on, he joined the shortlist of talents that I kept in the registers of my mind, and as I drifted through years and anime like a falling leaf, I kept encountering his name and remembering that first time I’d seen his work and opened up my heart to animation’s art. Eventually, in 2007, I started watching more Madhouse series as part of an internship with that company, and it was then that I discovered Paranoia Agent. I liked it immediately, but it was the second episode, titled The Golden Shoes, that totally sold me on the series. Something about the flow of that episode, the excellent pacing, the meticulous building of scene upon scene, up until the distorted, twisting climax, made me realize that it was one of the single best anime episodes I had ever seen. As the credits rolled, I watched eagerly, waiting to see who had been responsible. To the accompaniment of Susumu Hirasawa’s creepily excellent score, the name of the episode director passed into view.
“Of course it was so good,” I said to myself, “it was Endo.”

Takuji Endo went on to direct four more episodes of Paranoia Agent, more than any other episode director, but it was The Golden Shoes that stuck with me as my favorite.
He was at work on the Stitch! TV series, at Madhouse’s partner studio DR Movie in Korea, when he fell ill. He died shortly thereafter, far from home and the people whose lives he had touched at Madhouse.

Just as he had come by chance into my awareness as an artist, so too did he quickly and quietly pass from life. He was a man I’d very much hoped to meet someday, to compliment on a career’s worth of outstanding works. The part of me that wants to work in this business, I think, would have overcome my nervousness and braved his reported bristly nature to learn his tips of the trade. In other words, he was one of the old veterans who are passing from the world, leaving the young who admired them behind, with an unexplainable emptiness in their hearts.

Less than a week from now, at the Otakon convention in Baltimore, Maryland, Takuji Endo’s final work will receive its premiere. Along with designer Yoshinori Kanemori, Endo-san co-directed the opening animation clip for that venerable event. I wonder how many of the attendees, the fresh-faced and optimistic hopefuls, will take note of that clip as a man’s last work. It is hard, of course, to have the knowledge that a little bit of life is wrapped up in a minute or two of drawings, often hastily done with a deadline to meet. It is harder to know that a certain few minutes contain the last of a life’s flame, before it goes out. Over the years, there have been many animators, many artists, many directors who have passed on leaving only their works as testaments. Like all humans, those of us who aspire to create sincerely hope we can make things that are good, things that will make a difference to the fellow beings around us who share our thoughts and emotions. Although now I can never tell him, I can truly say that Takuji Endo was one of those successful creators, a man whose work touched my life and, in its own subtle ways, shaped who I am. And I am sure, very sure, that regardless of the transitory nature of living and dying, it is in good art that one can become immortal.

He will be dearly missed, and remembered, by all who loved that art.

Animation Home Video Personal Purchasing Tracker: First Half of 2009

By Nicholas Zabaly
By the unusual title of this article, you may be wondering what exactly this is all about. In truth, it’s a kind of experiment. I recently started reading about general DVD and Blu-Ray sales figures in America for the first six months of the year (January through June), and I noticed that while all sales are generally trending downward, animation seems to be holding up to a larger extent. This isn’t to say that animation home video sales have grown or even stayed flat – indeed, they’ve declined like the rest of the market, just not as much. Particularly interesting to me was that DVD sales of Japanese animation (anime) have fallen just 2% from last year at this time, a rather remarkable number considering how bad the DVD sector has been generally (however, in 2007, anime fell 11% from the previous year, meaning that the industry has on the whole lost about $100 million in earnings over this period). All these numbers are very interesting to a stats tracker and casual supporter of the movie business, but I wanted to put more of a human face on it. Specifically, I wanted to see just what kind of purchasing activity an individual might do over a six-month period, with regards to animation on home video. So, I compiled the following list of my own purchases of new DVDs and Blu-Ray discs, and have posted it here for the public record. In another six months, at the end of 2009, I will post the tracking data of myself from that period. In this way, people can see a case-study individual’s purchases with regards to sustaining the international animation industry.

I have not listed prices due to the fact that I don’t remember them and don’t want to go for total disclosure anyway. However, once can assume that standard retail rates apply in most cases. Some items were purchased in sales, others at regular prices. In all cases, all items listed were purchased new, from established brick-and-mortar or online retailers. I would encourage readers, if interested, to compile their own lists for comparison purposes, and perhaps to even post them online. Gathering data like this together not only helps establish what titles are selling (information that is almost impossible to get outside of privileged industry sources), but also to reveal just what quantities of business are being done, and by whom. I hope this purchasing tracker will not only prove to be informative and interesting, but perhaps even a resource for determining the level at which fans and enthusiasts help support the production of animation.

American Animation:
Title:       Distributor:
Bolt 3-Disc Blu-Ray     Walt Disney Home Entertainment

Pinocchio 2-Disc Blu-Ray    Walt Disney Home Entertainment

Japanese Animation:
Title:       Distributor:
Clannad Collection 1 DVD (12 episodes)  Sentai Filmworks (ADV)

Claymore DVD 2 (4 episodes)   FUNimation Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 5 Special Edition (4 episodes) Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 6 Special Edition (4 episodes) Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 7 Special Edition (4 episodes) Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 8 (4 episodes)   Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 9 Special Edition (4 episodes) Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 10 Special Edition (4 episodes) Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 11 (4 episodes)   Bandai Entertainment

Eureka Seven DVD 12 Special Edition (4 episodes) Bandai Entertainment

Kiba Collection 1 DVD (26 episodes)  ADV

Kiba Collection 2 DVD (25 episodes)  ADV

Origin ~Spirits of the Past~ Special Edition DVD FUNimation Entertainment

Romeo x Juliet Collection 1 DVD (12 episodes) FUNimation Entertainment

Sword of the Stranger Blu-Ray   Bandai Entertainment

Welcome to the NHK DVD 1 (4 episodes)  ADV

Welcome to the NHK DVD 2 (4 episodes)  ADV

Welcome to the NHK DVD 3 (4 episodes)  ADV

Welcome to the NHK DVD 4 (4 episodes)  ADV

Welcome to the NHK DVD 5 (4 episodes)  ADV

Welcome to the NHK DVD 6 (4 episodes)  FUNimation Entertainment

Preparing for USC and writing for Fangoria has caused me to neglect my blog for quite a while. Thus, Nicholas appears to have declared himself judge, jury, and executioner of lacinemayouth.com for the time being. As I plot the eventual retaking of my crown (which will take place as soon as I get my schedule for school worked out) he will continue to make me look like an utter flake.

This day, Nicholas has supplied us with an academic paper about one of the more fascinating projects in the history of animation. With Disney poised to return to its roots, this is quite a timely subject to examine. Maybe today’s animators could try their hands at this someday.

Fantasia 2000: A Dream Fulfilled

By Nicholas Zabaly
As cap on the first century of animation and introduction to the next, few films of recent memory aspired to the heights of Fantasia 2000. Called both a great art film and “Roy’s Folly,” this fascinating and troubled movie epitomized all that was right and wrong with Disney in the twilight years before the Pixar takeover. Technically and artistically brilliant, filled with the dreams of the staff, and plagued by inter-company woes, the film did not strike a chord, lost a tremendous sum of money, and was seen as a mistake. In other words, it was a true Fantasia production in the spirit of the original, and one worthy of a closer look. This is its story, from its beginnings as Roy E. Disney’s dream, through production, and to its lasting legacy as pinnacle of the modern Disney art.

The Fantasia dream, of course, began long before Roy’s time. Uncle Walt, as Roy knew him, famously imagined it as an enduring project. Roy inherited the dream and kept it alive until the opportunity came as the Disney Renaissance entered full swing. According to James B. Stewart’s DisneyWar, the whole thing started as a debate about home video. In 1984, “Bill Mechanic, a young executive from Paramount, had followed Eisner and Katzenberg to Disney, hoping to become a movie producer” (DisneyWar, 91). But the studio had other plans and placed him in charge of home video. Mechanic proposed releasing animated classics like Pinocchio and Cinderella on video, but there were fears that “… mass-marketing videos might cheapen the Disney image. Roy was opposed to the idea, and Katzenberg, too, felt it was a mistake” (92). While overruled on these films, “… they still wouldn’t let Mechanic release… Walt’s treasured Fantasia” (93). Things were stuck until 1990. “Then Eisner hit on a compromise… [he] proposed using the proceeds from the sale of Fantasia videos to finance a Fantasia sequel under Roy’s direction… Roy agreed. Fantasia sold 15 million copies, and Eisner called Lillian, Walt’s widow, to tell her that Fantasia had finally earned a profit” (106).

The decision launched the Fantasia project in 1991. It came at the right time. Employment at Feature Animation was soaring, and animators were often without assignments. For the next 9 years of production, Roy picked up the free talent. Unfortunately, “Katzenberg hated” the new Fantasia, and he “remained hostile” even into pre-production (106). The film “… became an ongoing source of unspoken friction between him and Roy… Katzenberg showed no interest in it… Instead, Roy dealt directly with Eisner” (106). This had significant consequences for the film.

With the project approved, Roy assembled his long-term team. John Culhane in Fantasia/2000: Visions of Hope reveals the choice of key personnel. “For the day-to-day producer, [Roy] Disney chose Don Ernst. Ernst had edited the story of animation [presentation]… at the Disney-MGM Studios… produced the Roger Rabbit short ‘Roller Coaster Rabbit,’ and a feature that could have been a metaphor for the making of Fantasia/2000: Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey” (Visions of Hope, 11). Next was Hendel Butoy, chosen to direct the Pines of Rome sequence (the first approved). He later directed the Piano Concerto No.2 and served as the supervising animation director of the entire project. Of Butoy’s directorial work on The Rescuers Down Under, Roy said “There’s something under the surface with Hendel that’s gentle and sweet, and Fantasia needs that kind of supervisory creative point of view” (12). These three formed the core group of the project, and were the only ones to stick with it from start to finish for the full 9 years. While “Roy gradually invited the entire Feature Animation division to suggest classical selections,” it was the intention of the three “to have every selection contribute to the single theme of hope of rebirth” (12). Musical choices were further assisted by Maestro James Levine, “… a musician famous for his interpretations of the most emotional moments of grand opera” (12). But finding the right music was hard. Don Ernst claimed that “I think anyone looking at our selection process would have thought we were crazy. But… our process seemed to have a certain logic. We hoped to begin and end Fantasia/2000 with… orchestral compositions that seemed to get the greatest emotional response from audiences over the years. So… we would put the names of selection on cards, on a bulletin board. We moved them around until we… reached a consensus… We must have gone through this process… six or so times” (12-13). At last, the compositions were chosen, the order was set, and on October 22, 1993, the first dailies of Pines of Rome were screened. Fantasia 2000 was underway at last.

Beethoven’s Symphony No.5 is the film’s first sequence, but because of indecision on which concept to use it was the last to go into production. One exchange from a 1992 meeting between Roy and Levine reveals this. When asked if he would feel comfortable conducting a three-minute version of the symphony, the Maestro responded with “The right three minutes would be great” (20). It didn’t just have to be the right three minutes of music, though, but the right visuals. By December of 1997, two years from release, they still had nothing even after, according to Don Ernst, “… four or five original story ideas” (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Symphony No.5”, 0:14-0:17). This, unfortunately, was symptomatic of the film’s fragmentary development. Pixote Hunt, tapped earlier to design the Interstitials, was asked to leave his work on Tarzan and give the sequence a try. “I had to come up with a fast way to present this” Hunt explained (1:50-1:53). Pastels were a favorite (and quick) medium, so he used them for his concepts. Ultimately, the goal was “… to try and bring this sequence to life as a moving pastel drawing” (2:01-2:05). Because he saw the Symphony as a battle between good and evil abstract shapes, Hunt needed a means of expressing readable movement. “We went to… the zoo in San Diego, to a butterfly farm, we watched footage in slow motion of bats. I didn’t want people to look at these shapes and take them literally that, ‘oh, this is a butterfly or this is a bat,’ but they’re just shapes that have butterfly-like behavior, bird behavior, bat behavior, so to keep it in a more surreal world” (1:15-1:42). Pastels also allowed smooth and rough gradations, reflecting changes in the music. But problems emerged.

The original artworks couldn’t be photographed with traditional animation camera rigs, since the glass flattening plate would ruin the paint. Layers of artwork couldn’t be stacked. Everything had to be scanned into the computer and then digitally moved and composited. Even this method destroyed the original artwork, as the paint transferred from the pastel to the celluloid sheets that were pressed against them in the platen, making each original a one-shot deal that, if improperly scanned, was lost forever. Complications also existed in the background colors. Story development artist Kelvin Yasuda came up with an ingenious solution. “To give us the widest variety” of bases, “we ended up going to your local hardware store, and… looking at house paints as our surface colors. We started off with pretty close to 130 choices for paint colors, and we narrowed it down to 15” (3:34-3:50). The pastels were then laid down on top of these. According to Yasuda, this was the first pastel piece ever done in animation (Fantasia 2000: Symphony No.5 Commentary). By combining traditional animation, cel airbrushing and pastel transfer, CAPS digital reproduction, and hand-painted backgrounds, Fantasia 2000’s only abstract sequence came to life… and somehow made deadline.

The second sequence, Respighi’s Pines of Rome, had been the first to be greenlit. Following the initial dailies in October, production proper went from 1994 through 1995. At the time, CG animation was still relatively undeveloped at Feature Animation, so significant advances were necessary to realize the concept. But even beyond technical challenges, what drove this sequence was the desire to create wonderment. Hendel Butoy explains: “The minute that I heard those first initial chords [of Pines of Rome], it kind of felt like you just wanted to fly… So just taking off from that abstract idea, we began to just search for something to do with flight” (Fantasia 2000: Pines of Rome Commentary, 5:54-6:09). “Early on, I shared my thoughts with Chris Sanders and Brenda Chapman, [who did] a sketch of a cloud-whale breaching water… Chris took that idea and plussed it, coming up with a mass of flying animals… Out of our ideas came a multitude of whales breaching and flying” (Visions of Hope, 41). The sequence, as Roy announced in a press release on Valentine’s Day, 1995, “… will depict neither pines nor Rome, but will use the latest computer-generated animation technology…” (45). How that technology would be developed, much less how the glorious promised imagery would be created, was the monumental task facing Butoy’s team. Chief among the problems was believability: who would buy flying whales? As Roy later said, “The only way that was ever going to work was if it was done in a kind of photorealistic style, that these were real whales where you could see the enormous bulk and weight… [and] simultaneously believe they were capable of flight… a Monstro kind of a whale, it’s too easy, you know, ‘sure, he can fly ‘cause you can draw him flying,’ but if it’s a real whale, ‘wait a minute!’” (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Pines of Rome”, 0:12-0:42). To create that ‘real’ whale, a complex mix of CG and traditional animation was required. The two didn’t naturally go together, so a saturated color palate was needed to help the visual blending. Beyond this, computer animation software needed to evolve to allow the required artistry. CGI artistic supervisor Craig Thayer explains: “We had a lot of difficult problems that hadn’t been solved… We had problems with the wrinkling on the skin… So we created a special customized way to remove all wrinkles. We also had problems with getting the water to look like it was really moving in reaction to the whales. So we… created a wavelet-driven particle system to cause these ripples to come out from the whale… Then we’d give Effects plotted reference of that so they could draw on top of our water and make the two work together” (1:52-2:30). Even with the advances, the whale’s eyes weren’t expressive enough with the computer, so they were hand-drawn and painstakingly composited onto the CG whales. Despite the difficulties, the completed footage created such a sense of wonderment that the story concept of the flying whales returning to the ocean at the end was no longer dramatic enough. Midway through production, the final conclusion was created of the whales bursting through the clouds and breaching in space. Satisfied at last, Fantasia 2000’s first segment (and Disney’s first major CG sequence) was finished.

Compared to these complexities, the next sequence, Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, was simple… and deliberately so. Director Eric Goldberg, who had harbored an obsession with Al Hirschfeld’s concept of an all-expressive ‘line,’ and previously applied it to Aladdin’s Genie, now could create an entire short film using the style, and set to a piece of music that, according to Ernst, he had “always wanted to do” (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Rhapsody in Blue”, 0:18-0:20). He lost no time, constructing the story around whatever images the music suggested to him – including pile drivers, rivet guns, or ice-skating. With Hirschfeld himself as artistic consultant, Goldberg’s team got permission to adapt the master’s famous caricatures, which they did in spades: Rhapsody is a virtual guide through Hirschfeld’s career as an illustrator, featuring, as residents of animated New York, decades of his design work. “The star of the piece is the line,” claims art director (and wife of Eric) Susan McKinsey Goldberg (2:51-2:53). “The line itself had to have a character to it, that had to have a personality,” Eric continues, “or the piece wouldn’t have come off in the same way” (3:23-3:30). A limited color palate involving computer-painted backgrounds (a rarity at this time), added to the graphic nature. Blue and muted darks formed the color scheme, with bright colors used to highlight important objects, like Duke’s red lunchbox and Rachel’s red ball.

As the longest and most character-animation intensive sequence, Goldberg had to raid free animators wherever he could. Disney legend Andreas Deja was among them. “I got roped in for two weeks, while I had a cold,” he revealed at a Van Eaton Gallery event in his honor on June 21, 2007. “I did the scene with organ grinder and the monkey.” Although his contributions last just a few seconds, it was work like this, spread among many animators, which completed the film. Ultimately, even Hirschfeld was pleased: “When I saw the film, finally, I was tremendously excited by it. I thought it was a wonderful collaboration of a moving line and a static line… to me, it’s complete” (5:46-6:01). But Rhapsody nearly didn’t make it into Fantasia 2000. Although Goldberg petitioned to make his baby for 8 years, Disney hadn’t greenlit it until a break between Hercules and his other Fantasia 2000 segment, Carnival of the Animals – and the agreement was for a stand-alone short only. But when the Fantasia team expressed an interest, “The Goldbergs and their team… rushed furiously to complete the segment” (Visions of Hope, 59). According to Eric, Rhapsody gave the film something “uniquely American, modern, urban, and twentieth-century. Urban America is not an area upon which animation – and particularly Disney animation – often treads” (59). Including the segment was a smart move: Rhapsody was heralded as among the best in the film.

A more mixed (and challenging) success was the next sequence, Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No.2, Allegro, Opus 102. “This show really represents the first time we’re doing main characters as computer graphics elements” said CGI artistic supervisor Steve Goldberg (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Piano Concerto No.2, Allegro, Opus 102”, 0:06-0:12). While director Hendel Butoy had gained valuable experience with CG on Pines of Rome, little in the massive, shape-oriented whales could have prepared him for the realistic humanoid toy characters that the Piano Concerto offered. As with the previous sequence, new paths had to be blazed to achieve the objective. Roy offered this take on the dilemma: “In 1991, it was clear to us that the computer was beginning to make… bigger contributions to what we were doing. So we were pioneering on one side of the coin, and we were also being really, really careful not to let the computer show… if computer art had been so far ahead of us by the time the film came out as to make us look like a bunch of amateurs, that wouldn’t have done any good” (0:27-0:51). But by 2000, film audiences had already experienced works like Toy Story 2, and this segment, a technical marvel half a decade earlier, now lacked the hoped-for punch. As Goldberg said, “In our show, we were working with traditionally-painted backgrounds, and there were a lot of hand-drawn elements… we had to make sure that the computer elements… fit in with all the other hand-drawn and hand-painted elements” (1:18-1:34). Some characters, like the rats, were hand-animated but had to interact with the CG Tin Soldier.

Hans Christian Andersen’s story “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” was picked when Butoy, listening to the Concerto (which Roy chose because his daughter liked it), found storyboards done by artist Bianca Majolie in 1938. While the images matched the music well, issues that afflict other Andersen adaptations surfaced. The original story ends unhappily when the Tin Soldier and Ballerina fall into the fire. This was storyboarded but, “The music had more of an upbeat tone to it” Butoy said, “or just ended on a positive note… and so we felt we had to go back and rework the story and the visuals to match what the music was saying” (4:05-4:17). Changes were also made in the rat scenes. “It just didn’t work, the first version that we had” Roy reveals (2:59-3:01). This version had comical rats performing cartoon antics. “We all looked at it and said, ‘you know…’ [laughs] we need to do a little more justice to this center section” (3:21-3:25). The discovery came only after full, colored animation had been completed on the comic version, resulting in unused work, wasted time, and money. Even when things were going well, animating to the fast music was hard. “The soundtrack itself is really punchy” explains animator Eamonn Butler, “and it’s a difficult piece of music to work to. We’re trying to tell quite a lot of story in a relatively small space of time… it was a real challenge” (2:24-2:51). The story and animation had to be shaped around the music. The integration was successful, but the segment is more uneven than many of the others.

Compared to these difficulties, Carnival of the Animals, Finale by Saint-Saëns, was breathtakingly buoyant. Based on a concept by veteran story man Joe Grant (who created The Dance of the Hours in the original Fantasia) and animated in its entirety by Eric Goldberg over a 9-month period, this piece had, according to Goldberg, “a kind of duel joy of having first of all the international language of music… [and] also the international language of humor as well. It’s nice to be able to do in pantomime and have everybody understand it in any country around the world” (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Carnival of the Animals, Finale”, 3:01-3:19). While other sequences depended on collaboration and mixtures of techniques, Carnival was strikingly individual and handcrafted – the only computer technique was digital replication of the ‘Snotty Six’ flamingos. Goldberg animated a single flamingo that was rubber-stamped to create all the characters. Under the direction of Susan McKinsey Goldberg, the flamingos were then hand-painted in watercolors. Backgrounds too were hand-painted: yellow for the Six, green for Oddball. A co-worker, Eric Goldberg explains, inspired the yo-yo tricks. “I got my research from my previous co-directing partner Mike Gabriel, who anytime he was bored on Pocahontas would pull out a yo-yo and start playing with it” (0:31-0:39). The only minor difficulty in nailing down the sequence was determining story: “Early story reels were very like Dance of the Hours: one guy had a yo-yo and all the others were chasing him in order to get it… one thing we learned when we went to study flamingos… is that they tend to work as a kind of group unit… It’s kind of mob rule, so to speak, and we thought it would be funny to make our hero the individual” (0:55-1:31). As Goldberg’s individual (which more than a little suggests self-caricature) is easily the liveliest character of Fantasia 2000, the effort succeeded admirably.

Success was not an issue for the next sequence, Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – it had, after all, remained a classic for nearly 60 years. Kodak’s Cinesite company spent months restoring the image, while Sony’s proprietary audio technology was used to fix the soundtrack. The result, while the highest quality possible, did not resemble the new material when blown up to Fantasia 2000’s IMAX format. But the magic of the story and art remained. As the sole sequence from the first film, it linked the two Fantasias.

Linking was also the job of the Interstitial sequences. Unlike the original film, where Deems Taylor introduced all the segments, Fantasia 2000 would have a group of presenters. As for the set design, several ideas were tried before producer Don Hahn struck gold. “Actually he dreamed up [the designs] at lunchtime one day and sketched them out on a napkin” relates Don Ernst (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “The Interstitials”, 0:35-0:40). The set, featuring large translucent sails, allowed for ever-changing displays. “It’s a little like story sketches pinned to a storyboard or frames of film” Hahn explains (0:50-0:54). By combining the sails with the orchestra, the concert could be set anywhere, even “in the middle of your imagination,” as designer Pixote Hunt wanted (1:14-1:16). The orchestra, presenters, and live-action material for the sails were each shot separately and composited together by Rhythm & Hues. Additionally, at the end of Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Mickey Mouse was featured running from Stokowski over to Levine. This was Andreas Deja’s other contribution to the film, and a transition to the next segment.

But what would that next segment be? This was one of the toughest debates of the film, and one which brought everything back to Roy’s sole boss: Michael Eisner. Since Katzenberg had not been involved with developing the project, Roy had no choice but to respond to Eisner’s advice. While a number of concepts were tried for this spot, including a boarded sequence called Icarus Duck set to music from Wagner’s Ring Cycle operas, Eisner at a meeting “insisted that Edward Elgar’s ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ be one of the compositions” after hearing it at “his son Eric’s high school graduation” (DisneyWar, 289). Although “Roy said nothing… everyone could tell from the strained look on his face that he didn’t like the idea” (289). From here, things only grew worse. “Eisner proceeded to outline a plot… all the classic Disney heroes and heroines – Cinderella and Prince Charming, Ariel and Eric – march in a wedding procession carrying their future babies… There was dead silence in the room… When Eisner left, the animators were in an uproar… The mass wedding… seemed like… a Korean religion cult. And showing the hallowed Disney characters as married with babies implied they had engaged in sex. The very thought was unsettling” (289). Roy assigned animators to create concepts. But “when they unveiled the segment… there was stunned silence. ‘This is an appalling abuse of the characters’ one animator said… The animators flatly refused to continue work” (289). Eisner gave up the babies. “‘I don’t care what you do… but you have to use ‘Pomp and Circumstance’’ he finally said. Roy concluded it was the price he’d have to pay to get the film made” (289). Even director Francis Glebas acknowledged it. “It was Eisner’s baby all the way” he confirmed at Van Eaton Gallery’s Animation Book Look event on May 17, 2008. Given these restrictions, the staff made the best of a difficult situation.

Glebas had pitched an idea with Donald as Noah’s assistant assembling animals for the Ark. In the wake of the baby scandal, it was an attractive alternative. Donald was underutilized, and he might provide the boost Mickey gave to the original Fantasia. Peter Schickele was brought in to arrange the marches. “Mostly what I did was a sort of a pastiche… but we did take a few liberties. I did a little slide on the tympanis that Elgar would never do, I think – probably lose his knighthood if he did that” (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Pomp and Circumstances”, 1:52-2:13). While the artists were enthusiastic about Donald, they were less so with the animals. Their animation was outsourced to Richard Purdum Productions in London, previously unthinkable for Fantasia. Some of the rain effects were reused live-action elements shot in 1940 for the original film. But no effort was spared for the feathered pair’s final kiss. Director Glebas explains: “Tim Allen was our animator who did it, and he basically put himself into the piece. He thought about the time when he was away from his wife and saw her again for the first time and they had this incredible kiss. That’s what he did with Donald and Daisy” (3:57-4:10). Allen’s emotion helped elevate the sequence above its infamous beginnings.

The final sequence, Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite – 1919 Version, provided a challenge unlike any other. Roy knew that something that could live up to Night on Bald Mountain was needed. This ultimate assignment fell to identical twins from Paris: Paul and Gaëtan Brizzi. “The theme” Gaëtan said, “was death and rebirth” (Fantasia Legacy: Creating “Firebird Suite – 1919 Version”, 0:07-0:15). Knowing this, the brothers set to creating the story. Every storyboard and concept was done by them alone. Art director Carl Jones then created the color script, the base from which the film was derived. Art Nouveau style was used for the characters; Symbolist art for the backgrounds.

In a private interview, John Pomeroy, supervising animator of the Firebird, told his personal story of creation. In 1994 John Pomeroy, the Firebird’s supervising animator, had pitched a project for Fantasia that he’d developed for a year, only to have the concept turned down. Disappointed, he was ready to move on when the Brizzis invited him to join the Firebird team. Excited at the monumental challenge of animating the Firebird, he accepted. Little did he know that his 44 seconds of footage would take the next year and a half to complete. The first half-year was spent on experiments and tests. “I needed to learn how to animate lava and crust” he said, “and how this creature would move.” Finally, he was ready. 1997 was Pomeroy’s year of the Firebird. He animated every frame himself, including roughs of the dozens of layers of effects. The creature was half-character, half-effects, so there was no way around it. The Effects department then cleaned up and refined his work. No computer animation was used. But beyond this, the work had great personal meaning.

“All three of us lead animators, Anthony deRosa [Sprite], Ron Husband [Elk], and myself, are very devout Christians” Pomeroy said. He saw similarities to his beliefs in the sequence. The Elk (like God) breathes life into the Sprite (like man), and the Firebird is like God’s wrath and also a means for new birth and life. The lead animators invested their faith in their characters, creating something more than ordinary drawings.

“There is this look between them [the Elk and the Sprite] where there is this communication… we wanted expressly to show the eyes of the Elk saying ‘Come on, you can make it, I’m sure you can make it… I will help you’” said Gaëtan (Fantasia 2000: Firebird Commentary, 105:58-106:14). These connections were the key to the sequence. According to Pomeroy, the Brizzis are “almost connected mentally” and could work as a single unit. Artistically, connections were crucial as well. “Firebird was… probably the most challenging of all the segments from an effects standpoint” asserts visual effects supervisor David Bossert (Fantasia Legacy, 1:42-1:50). And “with the Sprite… 50 percent of it was made up out of effects elements” (2:30-2:38). Layers of drawn effects, CG, particle simulation, and character animation were all combined. The Elk’s antlers were done in CG and composited later. Pomeroy related that the entire team felt that it was incredible to be working on this project. For them it was a rare opportunity, the pride of the movie, the crown jewel of Fantasia 2000, the summation of Disney greatness. “I wish there were more like that one,” he said.

On the film’s release, many agreed — for Firebird and Rhapsody. But critics found less to like in other segments. “The Eisner-inspired ‘Pomp and Circumstance’… came in for particularly harsh criticism” (DisneyWar, 347). And the film’s huge costs, at least $90 million, were increased by “the seven eventual ‘premieres’… [each of which] cost more than $1 million” (346). As the film had been made for the limited-capacity IMAX theaters (including one specially built by Disney), less than $3 million was earned on opening weekend, and the film grossed only $60 million in the United States. “Eisner was impervious to arguments that at least $60 million would have been incurred anyway since so many animators were under contract. He didn’t say anything directly to Roy, but told others that the film was ‘Roy’s folly,’ and that it had convinced him that Roy had little, if any, talent” (347). This became a wedge issue when, during the lead-up to the Save Disney campaign, Eisner forced Roy from his family’s company. The Fantasia dream was over, and draconian layoffs at Feature Animation soon followed.

Most of the creative talents responsible for the film have now scattered. Looking back on the moments of creation when these, the best 1,200 artists and technicians of contemporary animation were all together, one cannot help but feel something important, though intangible, has been lost. However, their lasting work remains a benchmark for beauty in the animated form, and testament to their accomplishments. Like its predecessor, Fantasia 2000 earned a profit on home video. With Eisner gone, Roy and others dream new Fantasia dreams. Perhaps a new child, 60 years from now, will pick up the baton, for the singular theme of hope springs eternal in the dreams of creators.

Works Cited:
Culhane, John. Fantasia/2000: Visions of Hope. New York: Disney Editions, 1999.

Deja, Andreas. Lecture. Career at Disney and Overview of Studio History. Van Eaton Gallery, Studio City, CA. 21 June, 2007.

Fantasia 2000. Dir. Pixote Hunt, Hendel Butoy, Eric Goldber, James Algar, Francis Glebas, Gaëtan and Paul Brizzi. Executive producer Roy Edward Disney. Walt Disney Pictures, 2000. DVD. Buena Vista Pictures, 2000.

Fantasia Legacy. DVD. Buena Vista Pictures, 2000.

Glebas, Francis. Personal conversation. Van Eaton Gallery, Studio City, CA. 17 May, 2008.

Pomeroy, John. Interview with Nicholas Zabaly. Telephone interview. 12 May, 2009.

Stewart, James B. Disney War. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005.

I’m quite sure this movie has been made before many times.

A Case of Stolen Identity; Or, When is a Honda Not Really a Honda?
By Nicholas Zabaly

By far the strangest story of this year in animation so far comes to us via the Japanese animation studio Khara (formed to animate the new Evangelion films), a famed veteran animator, and a part-time university professor who claimed he was something, or rather someone, he was not.

Takeshi Honda is a living legend of animation in Japan. Having a career that spans over thirty years, Honda is a master of all elements of animation, including character design, mechanical (mecha) design, animation direction, and key-frame animation. His work as an animator can be seen in the films Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade, Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence, Naruto the Movie, Perfect Blue, and Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea. His character designs, meanwhile, grace the screen in Satoshi Kon’s classic film Millennium Actress, in the OAV (original animated video) series Blue Submarine No. 6, and the TV series Denno Coil. Additionally, he is also a full-time employee of Khara, having spent the last three years laboring away on the Evangelion project. In his native land his fame is equivalent to that of Andreas Deja or James Baxter in America, and he was even given the nickname of “Shisho” (“Master”) by a colleague. So how could a lecturer fool two art universities in Japan, as well as classrooms full of students, into thinking that he was Takeshi Honda? And how could he get away with it… for seven years?

That’s the question that is currently embroiling the academic and animation spheres of Japan right now. The extraordinary case reveals a massive lapse in academic standards at Joshibi University of Art and Design and Shobi University, as well as providing a startling realization of the anonymity of even famous animators in the public sphere. The whole matter came to light only after Khara organized a special investigation, which began last year, to gather information from students. The universities themselves, seemingly, had no idea that anything was amiss, and so it was left to the animation company and concerned students to uncover the fraud. Subsequent to the revelation, the lecturer (whose real name has not been disclosed) was forced to resign his positions at the schools.

The crux of the case was the man’s appropriation of the name and persona of Takeshi Honda. The man claimed at Joshibi that the name ‘Takeshi Honda’ was an assumed ‘artist’s name’ he used for credit purposes, and that he had retired from the animation business in mid-2001 after having had “trouble” with Satoshi Kon during the production of Millennium Actress. It was at this time that the man, under the Honda alias, took his position at Joshibi. He also claimed that the ‘Takeshi Honda’ who continued to be credited on numerous animated films and TV series was himself a fake, who took the ‘Honda’ name and production résumé after his retirement. This ‘New Honda’ is, according to the imposter, a disciple of the original (the university lecturer) who has been deceiving the world and carrying on the ‘Honda’ name. Apparently, this story was believed by the Joshibi staff and students, thus allowing him to hold a part-time lecturing position for years. Whether the man told Shobi University the same story or another fabrication has yet to be determined. Khara, for its part, has spoken on behalf of the real Takeshi Honda in dismissing all the man’s charges as completely false.

So when is a Honda really a Honda? Or, more importantly, when are appearances more important than the real thing? It seems almost inconceivable, given a seven year time frame, that Joshibi University would not find this man’s story even slightly suspicious or devote any effort to an academic background check. Whether the two universities were in on the ruse or were actually massively deceived, the sheer level of staggering incompetence revealed by this case is a poor sign for the Japanese higher education system. And for the real Takeshi Honda, the knowledge that a total stranger assumed his identity for seven years and claimed Honda’s pre-2001 work was actually his own has to be, at the very least, highly unsettling. The natural answer to this: animators, in Japan and everywhere else, must have higher visibility if they are so famous as to be impersonated. While it seems unlikely that there are fake Brad Birds, Henry Selicks, or Richard Williamses running about, the possibility for exploitative fraud such as this remains existent, indeed even high, so long as academic institutions do not do their homework and animation companies do not actively pursue public awareness campaigns. The animation world cannot be allowed to descend into an anonymity so pervasive that even identity can be easily swapped and assumed. All great artists deserve not only to be recognized for their craft, but also for themselves. And as enthusiasts for this medium, we, as members of the general public, must help realize this recognition. After all, without some conception of identity, there’s little in this crazy world to keep life from turning into a massive Looney Tune.

Is there any point in my writing about Milt Kahl following last night’s superb Academy tribute, considering how animator’s the world over rever his work? This was an animator who knew how to apply squash & stretch: for the point of the character. He’s an animator whose work I can watch without noticing the weight, which only serves to punctuate character traits. Deja can go on about Kahl’s draftsmanship and composition, but all this came second-nature to Kahl. The man was, first and foremost, a performer, and the technique flowed out of him. I’m confident that God made that man an animator in the way God made Da Vinci an inventor (oh, how we nerds love to praise people).

I got into a brief argument with an animator friend over a character I loved and he didn’t: Madam Mim. The best I could get out of him was that “the shapes weren’t interesting” and “it’s not a compelling character.” If anything, I find Mim to be a masterpiece in simplicity. Her bombastic words fail to match her sloppy, unimpressive appearence. While she’s a woman of great power, she’s mostly bark and less bite. Perhaps a tad delusional. While her body’s made up of very few, straightforward shapes, we experence her silly, insanity-tinged dancing motion the most in this way. Kahl could have made her an elegent witch with lots of beautiful shapes, but that kind of person isn’t likely to be living in the middle of the woods in a dusty cottage lined with nothing of interest.

The one place where her shapes do draw intense interest is in the face. While not as complex a Picasso homage as Shere Khan, Kahl boldly communicates the giddy but crazed and slightly murderous nature of Mim with his off kilter shaping of the face. Our attention is drawn straight to these shapes, as it should. These are most definitely intriguing shapes.

I have now proven my friend’s opinion wrong (in my opinion).

That said, there’s a whole host of characters which Kahl did which were great. It’s only a shame he was forced to work on bland characters like Prince Phillip. I was also taken with the early designs for Wart from The Sword and the Stone (a movie which I love, but know could have been even better). His look was more awkward and fitting with Wart’s insecurity. I liked the early look of Merlin as well, though I found it different from rather than superior to his final design.

One incredibly interesting artifact Andreas Deja brought up was an early model sheet for The Black Cauldron. As lousy as the final product ended up, it would have been more tolerable had the animators followed these designs more closely, generic and uninspired as they were by Kahl’s standards (you know what they about Frank Sinatra).

The panelists were all equally terrific. Those who knew Kahl personally shared some colorful stories about the man (one involving a dog and his leg, another concerning the picture of an overweight baby which he passed as his own daughter) and those who knew him professionally discussed the man’s influence on their own work. Some felt that Deja’s section on Kahl’s drafts went too long. While I wish his own thoughts had been less technical, his enthusiasm was there and I could have spent hours hearing him talk and show off drafts (though I disagree with him about “Clucky” from Robin Hood being a good character).

I was not aware of the ticket issues. Apparently, over 150 people were turned away, among them Mike Gabriel. Hopefully, those who pledge never to return to the Academy will rescind that claim, as this was an extraordinarily rare event, and every Marc Davis event has been outstanding.

Good job to all involved.

My essay here may have emerged as nothing more than a wandering rant. However, touring the animation blogs have gotten me enraged with the more conservative animation bloggers who have started a backlash against Pixar and scream for a return to more innocent times. Audiences and real critics march on unaware of this very vocal niche, which has claimed even the normally quite sensible independent animator Michael Sporn (whom I’m not really addressing with this essay, though his assertion that WALL-E is a “step backward” comes off as rather silly to me).

Keep in mind, I have had my issues with Michael Barrier before (as I do with any critic who insists on using the word “hack” instead of letting the criticism speak for itself). In hindsight, I’ve focused a bit too much on Barrier and his distate for WALL-E, but it’s interesting to look back on how I wonder from one subject to another in trying to understand why I’m so upset by his writing on CGI. Perhaps animation still needs its equivalent of a Jonathan Rosenbaum or an Andrew Sarris for me to ignore the provocative writing of its few genuine historians and critics.

And, finally, remember that this is all pure opinion.

Michael Barrier belongs to a frustrating class of critic. As with most “authorities,” I find Michael Barrier to be an eloquent writer with little in the way of actual critical substance. His review of last year’s animated darling WALL-E, a shockingly great film for even Pixar’s standards, lacked much real substance. His review seemed directed more at the hype than at the film itself. He derided the film for being juvenile in its politics, though what “politics” existed did so to serve the film (as opposed to the story serving a political viewpoint). Is it truly political to have a message about waking up to the joy of life?

However, this is not a paper trying to defend WALL-E specifically. This is not about the accusations of ripping off Short Circuit (which are to be ridiculed and responded to with comparisons between Johnny 5 and ET). This is not about defending the film’s second half, though I would rank it equal and even better than the first. This is about a small but apparent backlash against CGI and even Pixar that has reared its ugly head with the success of WALL-E. And, yet, there is a far-reaching extension of this problem which pertains to the very meaning of animation.

If I am passionate in my disapproval of this thinking, it is not because of the dislike for WALL-E. I’ve always found differing opinions fascinating and beneficial to my own analytical thinking. What provokes me are the motives behind these feelings. The quote which spurred me to react was from Michael Barrier’s review:

“What’s clear from WALL•E and Kung Fu Panda , as never before, is that computer animation is a dead end, a form of puppetry even more limited than stop motion.”
While one might argue that this is merely one man’s opinion, Barrier, a man of considerable clout in the field of animation criticism, has dismissed two artforms with one fell swoop. His criteria for this addresses one issue: motion.
If I focus on Barrier, it is because he best exemplifies that which infuriates me. My sensibilities are very different from his. Barrier’s taste seems to be for Disney and Warner Brothers style animation. However, even in this subject we disagree strongly: I find Pinocchio to be arguably Disney’s greatest and most moving film, while he was impressed only with the craft. Barrier also fails to see what I see in the work of Miyazaki; the most humanistic, touching, and subtle character animation to date. Whatever our disagreements on these films, Barrier presented his points in a gracious and thought-provoking light that helped me to better understand why I hold the views I do.
Alas, Barrier’s disregard for stop-motion shows an all too pervasive attitude toward animation: the worship of classical American animation. Indeed, the vast majority of Barrier’s essays address Disney. Yet, Barrier and most seem little concerned for animation outside of these excepted masters. Barrier, who recently accused Don Bluth’s work of propagating the idea that Disney animation is the only good animation, has done little to remedy the mindset. Where are the much needed essays on the neglected work of masters such as Yuri Norstein, Paul Grimault, and Lev Atamanov? What of Frederic Back?
Perhaps the problem lay in the issue of animation style. From a comment on Michael Barrier’s website:
I’d rather just look at some real films rather than subject myself to phoniness.  What CGI will never have is humanity and individuality.  We know it’s a Bill Tytla or a Frank Thomas or a Ken Harris or a Rod Scribner scene because their skill, style, and timing is all over it.
What is this “phoniness,” and how does one go about identifying it? The idea that we can’t personalize the animation? Does the fault lay with the animators, or with us for not knowing the lead animators on a picture? Animators from Disney, Warner Brothers, and even Terrytoons are well known because they have been well publicized within the American animation community. They deserve their fame, but do they deserve them more than Japan’s star animators, such as Yasuo Otsuka or Yoshifumi Kondo? Both of these animators have as much a distinctive style as America’s animators, but, as with CGI, even the most acclaimed of anime is considered less personal than Disney’s work. Were one more familiar with these animators and their work, it would perhaps become far easier to personalize it.
A fitting comparison would be that of live-action directors. Disney’s work brings Robert Altman to mind. Each animator bounces off of the other, bringing their own style completely into the picture. This also is akin to the methods of classical American directors like John Ford and Howard Hawks, where the acting and individual components are given priority over an overarching vision. Foreign animators and animators of CGI and stop-motion have a personality to their work that they are using to serve the director’s vision. I would compare this category to more controlling and visionary directors such as Kubrick or Tarkovsky. While each of Kubrick’s actors brings a unique personality to the work, it is the director’s persona which reigns over center stage. These films, I feel, are no more superior or inferior to the former type, but they can be more interesting in a way due to their intensely personal nature. One couldn’t really attach Sleeping Beauty to any one artist, as the film belongs to Disney, Eyvind Earle, and the whole cast of concept artists and animators equally. However, Tale of Tales is, without any doubt, a Yuri Norstein film. The King and the Mockingbird is a Paul Grimault film. Princess Mononoke could not have been made by anyone other than Hayao Miyazaki.
The same can be said of CGI and stop-motion. Pixar has their own style, but, like Warner Brothers, the style is shaped from work to work depending on the director. John Lasseter is a lover of comic dialogue and themes of treasuring what could be lost. Andrew Stanton is fascinated with exploring fully realized worlds and watching constricted people break free of their unfulfilled existence. Peter Doctor toys with bizarre, epic concepts and wrings an emotional core from the chaos. Brad Bird does whatever the hell he wants. Only a few directors of such unique vision existed in the golden age, principally the Warner Brothers directors. American animation has been mostly dominated by collaborative, house evolved styles throughout its history. Pixar has found a sweet-spot, just as Warner Brothers did many years ago, where its directors employ a unifying style in a way they explore individually.
Stop-motion animation is another monster on its own. One would find it hard to not notice the boldly individual style of Henry Selick or even Jules Bass and Arthur Rankin, but one would find it difficult to individualize the different animators. The style of stop-motion seems more dependent on singular personas, since its based so much on design and craft. Ray Harryhausen, The Quay Brothers, Nick Park…each places their own movement style on every frame.
Simply because this particular form of animation doesn’t allow for complete freedom of squash and stretch or subtleties that would make it far easier to place one’s artistic stamp on the animation, should it be dismissed as inferior? It’s easy to forget that the people who really matter in the end aren’t animators or critics, but audiences. All an audience sees are the results. Coraline received mostly glowing praise from its audiences, as did every Wallace & Gromit entry. Thus, though the components are essential, it is the whole that most moves an audience. It is why Glen Keane’s brilliant animation of the bear in The Fox and the Hound only served to temporarily distract us from a lackluster movie. It is a good scene, but it is not a part of a good whole. Likewise, there are mediocre horror films aplenty that feature effects and makeup from masters of the craft. These are recommended viewing only to students and enthusiasts of effects, and it must be understood that these efforts are inferior to those which serve a whole product (which is why Stan Winston’s work in Kongo will never be as breathtaking as his work on Aliens).
Thus, as we lurch from my ranting on Michael Barrier to my (amateur) philosophy on the nature of animation itself, I have come to one conclusion: America’s conception of good animation is nothing but a collection of tools. Each has their purpose, and each can be employed to great effect, but not everyone should always use squash & stretch or ultra-cartoony exaggeration. The King and the Mockingbird, one of the most deeply moving pictures I’ve ever watched, ignores weight in favor of form, and suffers nothing for it. WALL-E may star machines, but it tells a story even if its protagonists aren’t organic. If we constantly look for every piece of animation to wow us with individual style, we stand to lose the very soul of the art form. We stand to repeat Disney’s situation of the seventies, with superb animation and cold, uninteresting stories. We stand to toss aside whole categories of animation only because they offer a new way of looking at moving the immobile. We stand to cling to the past because we do not wish to confront the future.
With Princess and the Frog seemingly primed to bring cel-animation back to theaters, we must not always stick to what works. We must be willing to experiment and not hold back a film’s true potential, as happened with The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Atlantis: The Lost Empire, with the fear of veering too far off what has worked for mainstream animation in the past. We must not be caught up in celebrating the animator over the characters he puts on screen. There are so many ways to apply animation to storytelling. Whether its the glorious visuals of Fantasia, the human details of Spirited Away, or the experimentation of John Hubley, there are a thousand ways to put drawings together in sequence, and if we open our minds to these methods, we may one day find a thousand more to treasure.

INTRODUCTION: Markus Manninen is one of the top effects talents at DreamWorks Animation today, having recently received attention for his work as visual effects supervisor on the Oscar-nominated Kung Fu Panda. His work on that film has also been recognized with a nomination from the Visual Effects Society (for Outstanding Effects Animation in an Animated Feature Motion Picture). Besides this, he also has worked in both animation and live action films as a digital effects artist.

Q: First, could you give us a list of your DreamWorks credits and briefly describe your role on each of these productions?

A: Before I came to DreamWorks Animation to work as Visual Effects Supervisor I was running the commercial computer graphics department at Framestore CFC in London and did work as a Director and CG Supervisor on projects. Before that I was a CG Supervisor at Filmtecknarna in Sweden, and before that I was self-employed/freelance animator and director.

My DreamWorks credits include:

- Kung Fu Panda [DreamWorks Animation] - Visual Effects Supervisor (release 2008)
- Kung Fu Panda Energizer (commercial) - Director (2008)
- Bee Movie [DreamWorks Animation] - Consultant (release 2007)
Over The Hedge [DreamWorks Animation] - CG Supervisor (release 2006)

I started in June 2003 at DreamWorks to do “Kung Fu Panda,” even though at the time the project hadn’t been identified. When I first arrived I went through the training and helped out on “Over the Hedge,” which was in pre-production. Mainly I supervised development and testing of the clothing pipeline, the procedural foliage system, and the procedural feather system. I also helped out on Bee Movie during early pre-production.

My main focus was obviously “Kung Fu Panda” which I started on part time in August 2003. As VFX Supervisor my role was to work for the directors and producers to make sure that we could deliver the film they wanted to make. My closest collaboration was with the Production Designer on the film. It was our job to strategize the best possible solutions for making the film “all it could be”. The two of us worked closely with Head of Story, Editor, Head of Character Animation, and Head of Layout. I had a large group of people as department heads that helped us make the film - Modeling Supervisor, Surfacing Supervisor, Head of Effects, Character Effects Supervisor, Final Layout Supervisor, CG Supervisors, Animation Supervisors, Matte Painting Supervisor, and Department TD Supervisor.

Early on the film my job is focused on understanding the needs of the film: planning the film according to those needs, developing strategies to accomplish the plan both artistically and technically, working with our technology development departments to make it possible, and following through with those plans with each department. As the film moves in to production I stay in constant communication to make sure that we follow the plan, or adjust the plan when needed. More and more of my time is spent directing the creative of the work during this time. It’s vital to have worked with the directors closely so that at this point the work that is done correctly to everyone’s satisfaction.

From about a year out from delivery I spend most of my time in “dailies”, where we basically watch the shots in a small digital theater without sound and give feedback to the artists and department heads to guide their work. In the last six months we start delivering a lot of material to DI (digital intermediate) for final color timing and continuity so a fair amount of time in the digital theater is that work. We start delivering reels for film out a few months out from when the film opens in theaters and that takes us to the different outside vendors. We also use outside vendors for commercial work, so a fair amount of time is spent giving them feedback from our studio, or going over to them to review material.

Q: What about for pre-DreamWorks for animation and live action?

Framestore CFC:

Underworld [Sony Pictures] - Senior FX Animator (2003)
Hagen Dasz [commercial campaign] - CG Supervisor (2003)
Harry Potter III [Warner Bros.] - Senior Animator Previs (2003)
Audi “Fish” - CG Supervisor (2002)
Tesco “What’s on Carrie’s mind” - CG Supervisor (2002)
Famous Grouse [campaign] - CG Supervisor (2002-2003)
Kellogg’s “Cow & Bear” - Animation Director (2002)
Nestea “T-Rex” - CG Supervisor (2002)
XBox “Mosquito” - CG Supervisor (2002)
Levi’s “Odyssey” - CG Supervisor (2001-2002)
Cingular Wireless “Good Vibrations” & “Goldfish” - Director (2001)
Richard Burbidge x 4 idents - Director (2001)
Whirlpool “Petals” - CG Supervisor (2001)
Fiat “Volcano” - Senior Animator (2001)
Shell “Fish” - Senior Animator (2000)
BT Cellnet [campaign] - CG Supervisor (2000)
British Gas “Mexican” - Senior Animator (2000)
NatWest “Dennis” - Senior Animator (2000)

I started at Framestore CFC as Senior Animator in the commercial department and after about 6 months I was helping run the department. We did a lot of commercials every year and I got to artistically touch maybe a 1/3 of them. I’ve selected a few of the commercials from that period here and the role I played on them. My job was usually to manage the client contact, strategize how to do the project, sometimes direct the project, and run the team on the project. I stayed pretty hands on as well.

We helped out in previs (pre-visualization) for some of the Harry Potter films, and my department also did the Bond opening title sequences with Daniel Kleinman (director). Before I left I also worked on the “Underworld” film doing werewolf to human transformations using Houdini and Shake, and composited the vampire interior body shot coming to life.

Filmtecknarna:

Boddington’s “Cream of Playboy”, “Horror Hoof” & “Market” - CG Supervisor (1999)
SF Movie Club “Monster”, “Beam” & “Walkers” - CG Supervisor (1999)
Sky Digital “Entertainment”, “Techie”, “Call Center” & “Installer” - CG Supervisor (1999)

I joined my friends at Filmtecknarna in my hometown Stockholm, Sweden, for a series of beer commercials to help make the CG/2D animation combination work. I had done some similar work on my own and got to experiment some more with how to do it successfully. My job was really to create a more streamlined workflow to enable the artists to work more efficiently on more material, and to develop the methods used to create the look of the spots. We started making full CG animated commercials as well. I also directed a Christmas commercial before it was time to try my luck in London.

Q: What got you into the film industry, and specifically visual effects? What’s your educational background? And, how did you make the transition from live action to animation?

A: I’ve always been a film buff. When I came across computer graphics at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst it sparked my interest. I’d been pursuing dancing and choreography as a potential career in my youth, and the combination of moving characters using computer graphics just seemed to fit my personality. I was interested even though at the time the process was similar to doing stop motion but inside the computer, with a bad user interface. I remember seeing “Jurassic Park” in the movie theater and thinking that’s what I wanted to do.

When I returned to Sweden I got the opportunity to learn more by being part of setting up a Media Lab at the Royal Institute of Technology, which is where I got my M.Sc. degree. After a few years I felt the need to explore the creative arena more and started freelancing as an animator in Stockholm. After several bumps in the road, buying my own Silicon Graphics workstation with Softimage 3D software, working in my parents’ house and briefly co-owning an animation studio, I ended up at Filmtecknarna. At the time my focus was on character animation even though you had to pretty much know everything to get the job done. At Filmtecknarna it was really inspiring working with traditional 2D animators, inbetweeners, painters. It was a great time.

I’d met Mike Boudry, one of the founders of CFC while at the Media Lab. So when I was visiting London I hooked up with Mike, and that led to meeting Mike Milne (one of the original 3D artists in London), which led to me getting hired at Framestore. When I came to London I assumed I would be doing mostly fully animated commercials with a focus on character animation. Then the visual effects boom took off and we got tossed into making a lot more visual effects work. My specialty was always in character animation, but you had to do everything to get the work done. We were using new tools and methods for creating better integration with live action plates. Each project was a new venture in figuring out better processes to create more complicated visual effects and more believable integration.

When the opportunity came to go work for DreamWorks Animation it was surprisingly fluent. I knew the European representative from a few years back. She introduced me to a Producer and Visual Effects Supervisor when they were in London. We chatted for five minutes about the production process and the creative process. Next thing I knew I was on a plane to Los Angeles to meet everyone. I think my background in animation was helpful for everyone to understand that I was comfortable with the process. Mostly I think it was a fortunate combination of my experience, skills, and the timing of them needing someone like me, that worked out.

The work was a little different than what I was used to in London, but the practices I used in running projects, managing the creative process, and to deliver on time were all applicable. In many ways I think it helped “Kung Fu Panda” have a more visible strategy for everyone involved.

Q: Could you describe the differences between working in visual effects on a live action production and an animated production?

A: As a visual effects artist, my experience in visual effects for feature films was that you worked with a team of people in a facility with very little visibility or understanding of what the final film would be. You worked with internal supervisors, and changes and feedback came filtered down through them or production management.

In CG feature animation at DreamWorks Animation we do have our directors, producers, and key creatives of the film internal, so everyone on the show has the ability to get it “from the horse’s mouth” so to speak, every day. It’s a very collaborative process. We try to give visibility to everyone involved as much as possible.

The biggest difference though is the story process. Only making two films a year, an animation studio has a very different evolution of the film from a story perspective that starts in early pre-production development and finishes sometimes as late as 6 months out from delivery of the film. It’s a very iterative, intense and introspective process. But it works tremendously well.

Live action has a more direct way of finding the film in the process of shooting it. It then gets found again in editorial. Nowadays a lot of that seems to be happening concurrently even. But there’s a far more immediate interaction with the story than in animation.

I think both processes have pros and cons, and it will be interesting to see how these methods influence each other in the future.

Q: Some animation experts say that character animators have an ‘actor’s mindset’ that allows them to inhabit their characters. Do you think there is a ‘visual effects mindset’ in people who work in the field that makes them more inclined to this aspect of production?

A: I certainly think there’s an approach to the visual challenge at hand that some people seem to simply grasp more naturally than others when it comes to effects work. But I also think that it is a craft people can learn how to become very adept at performing. I think like most things, some people only see the final complete picture, where as others can see the construction of it, how it was put together, imagine it done differently. That natural ability in combination with the technical skills of understanding the underpinning of computer graphics techniques makes some people truly exceptional in the field.

Q: Digital effects are, in both live action and animation a necessary part of modern moviemaking, but in comparison to character animation have a tendency to be overlooked. From talking to animation fans, I have a sense that a lot of even the very dedicated and knowledgeable don’t really know what a visual effects supervisor does. Could you explain what this role within the production consists of, what your duties are, and how you supervise or head up the effects team?

A: It’s true that the Visual Effects Supervisor in Animation doesn’t fit into the traditional approach to 2D animation, and therefore it doesn’t have the history that many of the other roles have. Also, it’s a little different depending on which studio you are working for. It’s actually surprisingly similar to live action in many ways.

The job in its clearest form is basically that you are responsible for delivering the computer graphics images that the directors and producers expect. That means that you are working closely with them to plan the film that they want to make and it is the Visual Effects Supervisor’s job to figure out how to put tools, processes, techniques, resources, and people in place to make that possible. It also means following through on those plans to achieve the creative aspiration of the film in all departments. Since the job on a feature animated film is so vast, you work very closely with the other key creatives (experts in their specific area) to make the film. At DreamWorks Animation these are the Production Designer, Head of Story, Editor, Head of Character Animation, and Head of Layout. You have a number of departments that report to you directly through their supervisors - Modeling, Surfacing, Effects, Character Effects, Final Layout, Lighting, Department Technical Directors and Paint Fix. On top of that you are also responsible for working with outside departments to make sure that technology resources and development are meeting the needs of your show.

Q: On a typical DreamWorks Animation production, is the effects supervisor expected to do some of the effects shots himself/herself, as a character animation supervisor would? And if so, could you tell us some of your shots in Kung Fu Panda?

A: So here’s the confusion. I have a Head of Effects who is the department supervisor for effects working for me. He or she may be expected to be hands on at times. Usually this is early on in pre-production when we are either doing look development or technical development. It depends on their skill set and how many artists are on the show. We quickly get to a place where the supervisors really focus on making sure their artists are successful. That’s the importance of the job and is always a struggle for artists doing their first stint as a supervisor.

My job as the Visual Effects Supervisor with the Effects Department is to plan with the Head of Effects how we will accomplish the film: setting clear expectations about the stylization of look and motion, figuring out how we will accomplish tent pole effects in the film, and what new techniques we will develop, how we will manage the creative process and approvals, scheduling, and budgeting. We constantly look back at the expectations to make sure that we are following through on them, or revise them if things have changed. After that it’s all about the artists doing the effects work. Mostly I see them in effects dailies every couple of days when they show their work, which I do together with the Production Designer. Sometimes I do rounds at artist’s desks to work with them a little less formally to discuss options and solutions.

I am always inspired by what artists bring to their work, and often the adaptation I want to make while we are making the film comes from new opportunities that come out of the excellent work that is achieved, and things I’d like the film to take advantage of more. I then go back to the directors and pitch that. On the directors and producer’s side that means they feel that there are opportunities to improve on the story they are telling during the evolution of the film, and that’s the kind of environment we crave when we make our films at DreamWorks Animation. On “Kung Fu Panda” I believe that’s how we ended up creating the rope bridge sequence quite late in production. It was truly an inspiring collaboration between everyone involved.

As far as doing hands on work, as a Visual Effects Supervisor, it may not be practical as your job is to make the 250 artists on the show successful doing their job. That’s the key responsibility.

Sometimes however, it’s necessary to get involved. It really depends on the situation. On “Kung Fu Panda” there were a few things that I took on and did in my “spare time” late in production. The production, thanks to my phenomenal department heads, was running smoothly so it was possible. I basically ran a small previs department in my office using Adobe After Effects. We had a series of conceptually difficult transitions between sequences and shots on the film that we hadn’t properly worked out. The directors had strong feelings about them, but weren’t able to articulate exactly what they wanted. To facilitate the process I started doing some compositing work to illustrate what it could be, to help nail down looks and timings, and allow lighting to create the final composites with few iterations. Since we had been working on the film together for years and I worked closely with the Production Designer, we were able to get together for 15 minutes once in a while in my office and figure out how to make these shots work.

The process was so successful that when we struggled with a flashback scene we used the same process to hammer it out, and we actually delivered the final frames that way. In the last moments of production I even did some paint fix work using this type of “creative compositing”.

Q: You were on Kung Fu Panda for about 4 years, longer than most of the other animators, as well as the directors! Over that period of time, how did the movie change from the original ‘Panda Project’ to the final film we see today?

A: I was on “Kung Fu Panda” for 4 years and 9 months. It was not a conscious decision, but more a result of many factors. When I first came on we were planning our schedule around a potential 2006 release, but other films were also in play at the time, so by the time all the scheduling for the films had crystallized we were a 2008 release. Which really worked in our favor.

The high concept part of the film never changed. It was always called “Kung Fu Panda”. What was really inspiring to be part of was the change with John, Mark and Melissa when we decided to make a film that honored the kung fu film genre and focused the comedy on the contrast of a panda voiced by Jack Black in a highly strict and structured Asian kung fu culture. It took us all a while to get that right, but from the start of that process we were all inspired by that concept. About the same time is when we defined the look of the film, and that really didn’t change. It simply evolved naturally through the filmmaking process into what you see on screen today.

Q: What scene or sequence are you most proud of on Kung Fu Panda?

A: A very difficult question to answer. Which one of your children do you love the most? I have many favorites for different reasons. I love the “Tai Lung Escapes” sequence, because that’s where we figured out the fantastical aspect of the film. The sequence was in development and production for a year and a half, and we continuously allowed ourselves to keep pushing it to be all that it could be.

One of my favorite scenes is the “Rope Bridge Fight” because we were able to take everything we’d learned and the relationship and trust that we’d developed on the show, and late in production create a sequence that was next to impossible to do within the resources and schedule we had. I see everyone’s strengths as artists and collaborators in that sequence, from the boards all the way to the finished frames on screen.

It’s difficult not to mention the “Chopstick Fight” since that was the first sequence that was approved through production. It really set the tone for the film in many ways.

From an emotional and acting perspective I love “Shifu Defends the Palace”. Not only is there some awesome kung fu in the sequence, with Tai Lung’s fist catching fire, which was a really cool and unique concept that worked well, but the exchange between Shifu and Tai Lung, both at the beginning of the scene and at the end carry so much of the emotional backbone of our story - which heart really lives within Shifu, his inner turmoil, and his relationship with Tai Lung and Oogway. I love the acting of Shifu at the end of the scene, which was animated by Dan Wagner, our head of character animation. What brilliance.

Q: Since Kung Fu Panda had a very strong Chinese design motif as the visual center of the film, were any attempts made to give the effects themselves a ‘Chinese’ feel or look?

A: We did have some stylization of the effects in the film. We discussed this at length as we started making the film. There was a constant balance between stylizing effects and the amount of effects we could accomplish. We ended up in a place where we stylized the effects to live in the same world with the characters and the environment, but without taking the audience out of the film by making the technique pull the attention of the eye. A lot of the effects work became about supporting the design sensibility of the film and the fantastical aspect of the movement and shapes we wanted to see. The fire fists are a perfect example of this. We used fluid simulations for fire in the film to create the distinct shapes and behavior. In the fire fists we worked within that choice and pushed it to the fantastical aspect of drawing trails of the motion curves using the fire.

Q: Besides your work on Kung Fu Panda, what other experiences at DreamWorks Animation stand out most strongly for you?

A: “Kung Fu Panda” is of course the strongest as I was on the film from the very start. DreamWorks Animation is a very collaborative environment. Many of us also work in global capacities to make sure that we evolve our filmmaking process and tools to allow future films even more possibilities. The camaraderie and respect for each other across the many projects that we have in production at the same time is very inspiring for us as artists and as members of the DreamWorks family. It’s a truly unique environment that I cherish every day.

Q: Perhaps I’m inquiring into ‘state secrets,’ but can you give us any details about your next project (without having to kill anyone, of course)?

A: I am not allowed to talk about the specifics of the project. I am in early development on a film with Chris Sanders and Kirk DeMicco, that Kristine Belson and Jane Hartwell are producing. I jumped at the chance to work with this group of people who I love and trust. All I can say is that I am tremendously inspired by what we are doing creatively. I have the opportunity to pursue my personal passion in making a next generation animated feature film. I am very excited to share that with everyone when the film comes to the screen a few years from now. Stay tuned.

Q: Lastly, in your opinion, what at DreamWorks Animation sets it apart from other companies?

A: I haven’t worked at another animation studio here in the US, so it’s difficult for me to say what’s different. I suppose what I can reflect on is my thinking when I decided to come and work here, and as well, my thinking when I decided to stay and make my next film here.

The most inspiring aspect as an artist is to work on a project that inspires you, in an environment where you feel supported and nurtured to try to do something unique that excels what we do. When I look at the projects we have in production, when I talk to the people who are working on defining those projects, who help create and define the culture of our environment, it always strikes me how generous they are with their time, their insight, and their passion for what they do.

Making good films is a lot of hard work. Great films are double that in amount of effort. To work with people who feel passionate about the film that they are making, and looking at such a diverse, yet great, slate of films in production is truly inspiring for someone like me, who at heart is a film buff. Who was fortunate enough to take a passion, a hobby, and be able to make it into a career. I think DreamWorks Animation is filled with a lot of us who feel that way, and we all feel very connected and jointly pursue with our passion how to make every film we make great. That artist’s camaraderie is what I think is unique.

CONCLUSION: Thank you very much for taking part in this interview.

RESPONSE: My pleasure. I am honored that you want to hear my opinions.